A Twist of Destiny
by Mystic Lady Fae
Summary: Being alone and unloved was not Erik's true destiny. Now, the great powers of Fate and Destiny have decided to give him the happy ending that was Destined to be his. Erik/OC
1. Fate and Destiny's Movie Night

Disclaimer: I don't own anything _**Phantom of the Opera**_ (though I wish I did). Only original characters belong to me.

AN: Yes, here I am, back with another _**Phantom**_ story! I know I promised a _**Pirates**_ fic, but I was on a roll with _**Phantom**_, so I might as well keep it going. Sorry it took so long, but my muses were not being cooperative, hence the lateness.

Also, I should mention, that in this story, the characters Destiny and Fate are not exclusively mine: the main concept of them belong to a good friend of mine. She's a favorite authoress of mine called Emerald, the Lady Destiny, who is mainly located in the _**Labyrinth**_ fan fiction section on this site. Please check out her fics; they're lots of fun!

In the meantime, I hope everyone enjoys themselves with this story, and will review. Thanks!

**Chapter 1: Fate and Destiny's Movie Night:**

Curled up on the couch, two sisters (twins, actually) sat in their living room, watching a film that had a lot of buzz around it. Granted, it had come out over five years, but with their busy schedules, it was hard to get a movie in. We all know how that goes.

The screen blared with the film's title soundtrack, the _**Phantom of the Opera**_, as Fate reached for the popcorn and Destiny popped the top of a soda can. Both women, seeming in their late-twenties, sighed in contentment and propped their feet up on the coffee table before them.

It might be best to mention that these weren't ordinary women, nor were they dubbed Fate and Destiny by an eccentric mother who loved unusual names. These ladies were the real deal, the anthropomorphic personification of Fate and Destiny, meaning they were (literally) the physical embodiments of these great powers that hovered over mankind.

It was relatively easy to tell them apart, despite the identical shapes of their face and eyes: Destiny tended to have blue, green or periwinkle hair (depending on how vibrantly happy or depressingly sad she was feeling), and Fate liked blazing colors, so her hair was either red, orange, or yellow (maybe even all three). Both sisters had the same gold-and-silver eyes that could see right into the heart of a human being. They were unusual, but lovely, in an unsettling way.

Like most anthropomorphic beings, the sisters lived in a house set a dimension outside of "normal" time and space. Presently, it had been expanded and furnished with every modern convenience available on the mortal market, though everything worked far better than it did in the mortal world. Ah, the benefits of possessing nearly cosmic powers!

Of course, those magical abilities weren't just for creating the most perfect microwave or refrigerator in the universe. The main function of their powers was to do their very trying jobs: to make sure that everyone's fate or destiny went _exactly_ the way it's supposed to. A very large book kept in their library let the sisters know if someone was supposed to be set on a certain path; or to have certain things happen to them; or to do something special that could have an impact on others.

There were, of course, millions of mortals who led perfectly normal lives; after all, not everyone was destined to become a figure for the history books. Occasionally, there were a few thousand mortals who required an epiphany in order to change the course of their lives, but the ones that needed 'special attention' were rare. Still, it was Fate and Destiny's job to make sure that everyone walked a certain path of life, whether they were 'special' or not.

Once in a while, however, things tended to be overlooked. The sisters were only two beings, and in spite of the cosmic powers they possessed, they really couldn't be everywhere; very few of their kind could. But if they had to, the sisters could manipulate time and space to fix person's fate or destiny, making sure that things worked out correctly.

Today happened to be one of those "oops-we-messed-up-_again_" days. As the movie progressed, Destiny got a nagging feeling in the back of her head, something that only happened when she'd missed something in the Big Book sitting in the library. When the final credits began to roll and Fate (the softie!) was dabbing her eyes for the Phantom, Destiny got up and headed for the library.

The door opened on its own (with magic, not technology), and the scent of paper, ink, dust, leather, and everything that was the essence of books met her nose. In the center of the immense library stood a golden book stand and a huge tome that was glowing with power. At first glance, the pages were empty, but when asked, it would show the path of any mortal Fate and Destiny inquired of. Today, Destiny asked for the Phantom of the Opera. The pages glowed, and words began to quickly fade into view, listing everything there was to know about the Phantom.

Somehow, Destiny wasn't surprised to find out that he'd been an actual person. Mortals always loved writing stories, but the problem was some of their tales seemed so incredible, the books were always labeled as fiction. The Grimm Brothers and their fairy tales, for instance, and don't get her started on the Peter Pan story! Over a century later, and that little imp was still smug, always thrilled that someone had written a book about him and his Lost Boys (though there were now a few girls being added the group).

But, anyway, back to the matter at hand. Standing before _The Book of Fates and Destinies_, Destiny began reading the info that the Book provided on the Phantom.

Apparently Leroux had done his research on the Phantom, but what he hadn't liked, he changed to make the plot more to his (or his readers') liking. Andrew Lloyd Webber had recently done a rather "romanticized" version with his musical and movie, but as it turned out, Webber had been far more accurate. At least Leroux had gotten the Phantom's name right: Erik.

Honestly, the poor guy's life story was heartbreaking: parental issues, gypsies, killing an abusive gypsy, and that whole facial deformity thing were a bit much for a poor child to bear. Then, of course, there was that whole Christine episode…

"Oops."

She didn't say it very loudly, but her twin could always tell whenever something was wrong. Fate entered the room, a concerned look on her face. When she saw her sister standing by the Book, she sighed. "Okay, who did we miss this time?" she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

"The Phantom of the Opera," Destiny replied in a small voice. "Turns out I, uh, missed him in the Book. He wasn't Destined to be alone and unloved; he should have had a wife and family, but the right woman hadn't come along. And no, I'm not talking about that silly little girl, Christine."

Having finished, she shut the book. "Such a waste," she complained, her hair turning a deep blue. "I can't believe I missed out on helping the actual Phantom! How could I let _that_ slip through my fingers? What does that say about me and my job? How could I miss something that big?"

Fate _tsk_ed at her and tossed her red-orange-yellow hair over her shoulder. "Now, sweetie, don't blame yourself. After all, there are billions of people on earth, and you can't keep your attention focused on all of them and their futures, whether they're ordinary or unique. Our reach just isn't that widespread, no matter what mortals believe. We can only do the best we can, and take some time off in between."

She went to Destiny's side and wrapped her arms around her. "Besides, I'm your sister; I'm supposed to be helping you with seeing that everyone, both ordinary and important, do or experience what they're supposed to, and even _I_ missed seeing him in the Book! Immortal and powerful we may be, but even we mess up sometimes. That's why we can reach back and forth through time: so we can fix our boo-boos and make things all better."

Destiny laughed, her dark blue hair turning lighter with her mood. "Okay, okay, so I guess we'd better do some time-travel stuff. But you _do_ realize we have to pick a mortal to fix it, right? We're not allowed to interfere directly, thank you so much Cosmic Rule Book."

Yup, there was a Cosmic Rule Book, which was currently occupying a dusty shelf somewhere in the library. It was basically a whole text stating what was and wasn't allowed when it came to messing around with mortal lives. Among the most important rules was the one stating that the astoundingly powerful beings, ranging from gods and goddesses to the anthropomorphic personifications (Death, Fate, Destiny, etc), could not mess with Time.

Time, being the fussy person that she was, hated it when others kept trying to disturb her orderly flow of things, and would only allow it if it was strictly business, not for personal gain. Thus, the Rule: thou shall not mess with Time. That was why the Powers (divinities and personifications) kept their houses set outside of it; so that their powers didn't somehow get into the time stream.

Besides, if Time got pissed off, she tended to reached into the future or past and do a little "messing" of her own.

Destiny and Fate, being who and what they were, were part of the select few that could get around Time's Rule. After all, the Universe had an outline/schedule of what It wanted to happen to people; was it _their_ fault if the occasional 'special person' slipped through the cracks in the system? Nobody's perfect.

Of course, it didn't help that Fate and Destiny weren't allowed to interfere directly when it came to mortal lives. Bad occurrences in the past involving the ancient Greek gods had forged _that_ particular Rule in the Book: no more direct tampering with people's lives. So, as the Greek gods eventually did, Fate and Destiny had to recruit mortals to do the hard work, for only mortals could mess in other mortals' lives.

However, training these particular people before sending them off to get the job done wasn't easy. As mortals were wont to do, they tended to change their minds on how to handle things; or they changed sides; or worse, they gave up all together whenever things turned ugly. Most of the time, though, things worked out relatively well, and as long as the path was mostly followed, the Universe could forgive any little messes made along the way. Besides, seeing to everyone's fate or destiny was always a complicated and unpredictable job.

Needless to say, this was a hard and somewhat annoying way to do things, but most of the time it was effective, if the sisters chose the right person. Destiny tended to have a better sense in these things, so Fate let her sister choose whomever she thought was best. But who would be the one to carry out this particular task? Who could change the Phantom's ways and make him a better person, or at least make him decent enough to find a woman to marry him?

"Time for us to do a quick scan of Death's Files," Fate muttered.

Destiny groaned. She hated dealing with Death; he was too serious, and she always felt gloomy or depressed around him. He wasn't the hooded skeleton people imagined; he was a rather handsome guy, but his nice face didn't do much for his personality and aura (which were _majorly_ in the negative zone).

Unfortunately, that was usually how their 'chosen ones' got picked. Taking a living person through time was _not_ a good idea, especially since it might mess up the whole Space-Time continuum thing. The only people that qualified for time-travel jobs were: (a) those who had _just_ died, (b) those who were _this close_ to death, or (c) those in a permanent coma or vegetative state.

Snapping their fingers, the sisters vanished from their library and reappeared (literally) on Death's doorstep. A massive grey mansion made of stone, it was rather cold and unwelcoming in appearance. The skull-shaped doorknocker didn't brighten it up, either.

Luckily for them, Death wasn't in at that moment, so Destiny and Fate let themselves in, like they usually did, and avoided looking at the glum décor (Death was really into skulls and pale grey wallpaper). They went straight back to his office and headed for the files stacked on his desk. After a moment, they grabbed a few folders and flipped through them.

"Who'd have thought Death would be so organized," Destiny muttered, opening a file.

Her twin chuckled. "Well, unlike us, he can't afford to make mistakes." Fate paused. "Though, accidents do happen…"

Destiny muttered something in ancient Greek and kept flipping. Thanks to Death upgrading his system, there were now pictures with the names, ages, and personalities of those that were either already dead, or were going to die very soon. This was very helpful, since it allowed the sisters to pick the perfect person for the jobs they had in mind.

After twenty minutes, each sister had found a few candidates who looked promising. Destiny skimmed through them, weeding out the ones who might give up too easily, or who probably wouldn't be up to the task.

Finally, she narrowed it down to two young women, one of whom had just passed, the other a comatose patient. The dead person's spirit would be easy to access, if she hadn't been shipped off to The Afterlife already. The comatose patient, however, was another story, since they were sometimes still "there," but barely. Most of the time, the patient's mind resided in the body until it died, but in other situations, the mind and the spirit had "moved on," and all that was left was for the body to die. It was always depressing, since the families never knew if their loved ones were able to hear their words or know what was going on around them.

In this case, the young lady in question was sort of in between the two. Her mind and spirit were holding on by a thread, and once she finished her task, she could either 'pass on,' or be rewarded for her hard work. No one, not even Fate or Destiny, knew what kind of reward would be handed out, but the perk of being Fate or Destiny meant they could reward their workers based on how well things turned out. In the case of this girl, she might be brought back to complete consciousness and given her life back…depending on how well she did her job.

After a quick conversation with the dead woman's spirit, Destiny decided to go with the coma patient. Apparently the ghost was happy to move on, and the sisters were content to leave it at that.

"What does the file say about this one?" Fate whispered as they teleported themselves into the hospital room. Since this particular girl's file had come from Destiny's list of possibilities, Fate had no idea what this young woman was like.

Her sister flipped open the spotless manila folder. "Her name is Amelia Richards, victim of a hit-and-run accident," Destiny replied. "She's in her late twenties, single, with brown hair and deep brown eyes. The file says she's a good-hearted, relatively patient person, though somewhat timid. Apparently she also has a temper, but it doesn't come out too often."

Fate grinned, gold-and-silver eyes glinting. "Perfect," she commented. "We need someone with attitude, and if she's a patient person, I think we've got ourselves a winner!"

Ignoring her sister's enthusiasm, Destiny took a closer look at the girl, this time with a bit of magic over her eyes. For some reason, it didn't surprise her that the girl's soul glinted like dusty gold instead of bright sunlight. This one was of the rare few who longed for a simple, contented life; a person who was happiest when wrapped up in a warm blanket with a book, rather than connected to modern technology. She didn't even have a cell phone! No doubt she'd be happy with the 19th Century lifestyle.

Using their combined powers, the sisters carefully pulled Amelia's spirit out of her body. A wisp of swirling blue-and-white light soon floated before them, slowly taking the shape of the woman lying in the bed. Confused and surprised eyes stared at them for a moment, right before her head turned towards the bed.

"Oh, my God," Amelia whispered. "Am I dead?"

She turned and looked at the twins, who stared at her with identical silver-gold eyes. Fate quickly decided to let her sister take the reigns on this.

"Hi," Destiny said, her voice light and chipper. "I'm Destiny. This is my twin sister, Fate."

Amelia stared. "Uh, okay…I was kind of expecting the Grim Reaper, but I'll play along. What do you want with me?"

Fate sensed her sister's telepathic 'nudge,' and stepped forward. "Okay, we'll get right to the point. The two of us are responsible for making sure that everyone's destiny or fate goes exactly the way its supposed to. Most of the time, people manage to follow their paths without trouble, but some need a bit of help, or a push in the right direction."

Destiny took over. "And then there are the ones who manage to slip through the cracks. To fix those little mistakes, we need to choose a mortal who is willing to help us, mainly by acting in our stead. We aren't allowed to interfere directly, so we have to get hired help."

"Okay," Amelia drawled out, "so, what, you want me to help you? How? I'm dead or dying!" She jerked her head towards the bed, where her body lay hooked up to a dozen machines.

The sisters gave identical waves of dismissal. "No problem," Fate said. "We'll tell you what you need to do, give you a few tips, then send you back in time in a brand new body. Easy as pie!"

Amelia's jaw dropped. "Wait, did you mention time travel? And a new body? Can you do that?"

"Well, it won't be a _new_ body, exactly," Destiny confessed, glaring at her twin. "In the time period we're sending you to, the original owner of the body, who happens to be a baby, barely a toddler, is on the brink of death. We'll swap your two souls (or consciousnesses, if you like) at the right moment, right before the baby's body dies. No, don't look so freaked out; Fate and I will make sure you survive in the body."

"And we promise that the baby will be reborn in a century or so, and lead a full life, so you don't have to worry about her," Fate assured her.

"Great," Amelia muttered. "So I get a new body that was someone else's, and then what? What happens after I do whatever it is you have in mind?"

"You get a reward," Fate commented nonchalantly. "Not sure what it is yet, but I promise it'll be really good. We could even give you your old life back, if that's what you want."

The twins were quiet as Amelia considered the offer. The clock on the wall ticked loudly, the seconds flowing by until Amelia's ghostly head looked at them and nodded.

"Before I answer, could you at least tell me who I'll be helping?"

"You will be helping the Phantom of the Opera."

* * *

AN: There's the first chapter! Please let me know what you think by reviewing! Thanks!


	2. A New Life, Literally!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything _**Phantom of the Opera**_ (though I wish I did). Only original characters belong to me.

AN: To make up for my slowness in putting this story up (mutters about lazy muses), I've decided to post this chapter earlier than usual. However, after this, it'll be back to Friday postings, so don't get used to faster updates (wink).

Also, since I can't remember what it's like being a baby, I'm going to use my imagination for the next chapter or two, so please bear with me and let me know what you think. Thanks a bunch!

**Chapter 2: A New Life (Literally!):**

As cheesy as it sounds, I have to say it: I _never_ thought that this would happen to me.

First, that damn accident happened. I mean, I was at a crosswalk, the light said I could cross, and then some jerk on a cell phone hits me before driving off. He (or she) didn't even stop to see if I was okay.

The next thing I know, I hear sirens, I feel needles poking into me (man, do I hate needles!), and then everything went black. I could hear things in the darkness, like my parents and relatives talking loudly to me, but couldn't make out a lot of what they were saying. I always felt tired, too, like I wasn't getting enough rest. Sometimes I felt so tired, I just wanted to let go and die.

Then, out of nowhere, these two women pop up, one with blue hair, the other with hair like shifting flames. They looked like any other young woman, except that both of them had eerie eyes that glinted gold and silver. Their names were Fate and Destiny, and they were sisters –twins, actually. Even weirder, they offered this absurd opportunity to me, along with the promise of giving me my life back if I succeeded in doing they job they wanted.

My little "mission" was simple enough: help them get someone's fate or destiny back on track. I tried not to think about the whole time-travel thing they talked about, or the new body my consciousness would soon be inhabiting –all of that would have been just too much for my brain to handle.

Of course, just as I was thinking about accepting their offer, I'm told that I have to help the _Phantom of the Opera_, of all people. Wasn't the guy a fictional character in a book?

"Not exactly," Destiny explained after I'd asked her. "Not everything you read in the fiction section of the library is made up. Peter Pan, for instance, is real."

"Yeah, a real pain in the neck," Fate mumbled before getting a nudge from her sister.

"_Any_way," Destiny stressed, giving her twin a glare, "the point is that the Phantom was destined to find a lady-love, get married, and have kids. It should have happened, but, unfortunately, he kind of got lost in the paper shuffle, and it didn't happen."

_That_ certainly got my attention. "Whoa, wait a second," I said, holding up my hands. "He got lost in the shuffle? You guys are super-powerful beings. I thought you were perfect."

Fate snorted and rolled her eyes. "Please. _Nobody's_ perfect, no matter what they tell you. Not even the gods of the ancient and modern world are perfect. Trust me, if you ever meet them, you'd totally agree with that."

"Okay, no theological debates, here," Destiny put in. "But seriously, Amelia, have you ever had to be responsible for the futures of over six billion people? That's a _lot_ of work to be put under. Now, granted, most of them are set to have normal, bland lives, but there are quite a few who have certain things they need to do, or have happen to them, and I can't be everywhere."

"Which is why we have permission from the great and powerful Universe to send folks like you back through time," Fate stated, smirking as she flipped her long hair over her shoulder.

I looked at them in speculation. "Okay, so let's just say I accept this little "mission" of yours," I said, emphasizing the word 'mission' by making air quotation marks. "If I manage to fix the Phantom's future, I get to have my life back, right? You can bring me back here and I'll go on living my life the way it was?"

Destiny hesitated, and I knew the deal had to be too good to be true. "Well, we can't miraculously heal your wounds or anything like that," she admitted, confirming my suspicions. "That would attract a lot of questions and media attention, which we're sure you don't want. We can make sure you wake from your coma, though, and after that, you'll heal up pretty good. It'll be a while before you're back to your old self, but we can promise that it _will_ happen."

Considering I was already at Death's doorstep, that was a pretty good bargain. My life before the accident hadn't been perfect, but it wasn't bad, either, and I was content with it –after all, I had an apartment, a pretty decent job, and friends to hang out with. Why wouldn't I want that all back?

"Um, quick question," I said, raising a hand. "What am I supposed to do, and uh, what happens if I mess up?"

"Your task is to make sure the Phantom doesn't become the monster we all know and recognize in the stories," Fate stated, her voice completely businesslike. "You'll have to make sure he turns into a relatively decent human being, one who knows right from wrong, and that his actions will have serious consequences."

Destiny also put on a professional air. "One of us will visit you either in your dreams, or in person, but only if you are alone. The only one who will see us is you; should anyone else see you speaking to us, they will assume you are talking to yourself and lock you up in an insane asylum."

Okay, that made sense. But how was I going to help the Phantom become something other than the guy I knew from the movie? I'd watched him strangle that stagehand in the movie, and that scene with the traps trying to kill Raoul always sent chills up my spine. Now I had to make sure he didn't turn into such a monster. Oh, yeah, that'd be easy as pie.

Still, how hard could it be? Not to mention the prize I'd get if I succeeded. My parents were probably going nuts with me stuck in a coma, and I couldn't continue putting them through that!

I looked at the sisters. "Okay, I'll do it."

* * *

Let me tell you, time-travel is a major trip, literally and figuratively. As soon as I'd agreed to help, the sisters lifted their arms, chanted in some sort of ancient tongue, and the whole world/universe twisted around me in a swirl of lights, shadows, and strange images. If I hadn't been a ghost, I'd have tossed my guts.

Then, about a minute after the whole time-travel thing started, the lights/shadows/images skidded to a halt. I suddenly woke up and found myself in my brand new body, feeling cold, wet, and ready to hurl. It would figure that, just as I was getting mentally situated, I really _did_ toss my cookies. Yup, I threw up…all over my brand new body.

Well, it wasn't like I could have stopped it. The body I'd been granted was exactly like the twins said: the form of a toddler girl, lying on a doorstep, apparently waiting to be found by a kind soul. And since I was in a basket on my back, with a slight incline, it was easy to make a mess all over my front.

Disgusted, I did the only thing a baby could do in that situation: I started to cry.

After what felt like an eternity, the door opened and out stepped a very handsome woman, her grey eyes searching around until they landed on me. She gasped before picking up my basket, a slight disgusted look on her face as she saw the mess I'd made. I guess I'd made a better impression than I thought, because in spite of my appearance, she brought me inside.

With the limited eyesight a baby had, I couldn't really determine where we were, or where we were going, but at least it was warm and dry. The woman was cooing comforting things to me in French, which I didn't understand, but it was nice to know that she cared.

The warm air was making me sleepy, but before I fell asleep, the woman knocked on a door and called out a few words. The door opened, and I heard a man's voice exclaim in surprise as the woman walked through the doorway, carrying me and my basket in her arms.

As my basket and I were set onto a flat surface (possibly a table), the man and woman exchanged a frantic conversation in French. From the way things were going, the woman was getting her way.

Sure enough, a few moments later, the man sighed. The woman came over, cooing to me in French as she pressed something soft, warm and damp to my mouth. It was a cloth, and I knew she was doing her best to clean me up. She _tsked_ and muttered a few words, but stopped after a few minutes. Either she'd cleaned me up to her satisfaction, or I wasn't as messy as I thought.

Content with the present situation, I let sleep claim me, praying I'd get a good rest.

* * *

Sadly, I was wrong about rest, because the first thing that happened after I'd drifted off was an encounter with Destiny. She was dressed in a black ensemble, which set off her metallic gold-silver eyes beautifully, not to mention her hair.

"Well, I see you're nicely situated," she chirped happily, her locks becoming a bright neon blue. "How's the new body doing?"

Thankfully, in my dreams, I was wearing jeans, sneakers, and a purple shirt. Not only that, I was in my normal adult form, so I could at least communicate with my new "boss."

I shrugged. "Its fine, I guess. I also don't know if I can walk in this body yet, but hopefully I'll be able to find out soon. And I can't talk, which is a bummer. Not that it'd matter, anyway, since I don't speak French."

Destiny nibbled her bottom lip. "If you can't walk yet, you'll probably be able to soon. The baby's body is almost at the walking stage, so you'll be mobile in a couple months, at most. As for the French…I'm not sure if giving your mind the language is such a good idea…"

I stared at her. "You can give me the whole French language?" I asked, disbelievingly. "Are you serious?"

Destiny waved a nonchalant hand at me. "Sure I can. It's just like downloading new software into a computer, and just as quick. The problem is, the human mind takes a few days to process it. I'm not sure if it's worth the risk."

"But it would make things _a lot_ easier if I could understand what the adults are saying," I pointed out. "The original owner of this body had probably started to understand some of it by now, but that's not the case for me. I have nothing to go off of."

That seemed to decide her. "Okay, I'll give you the ability to understand French, but you won't be able to speak it for a while –not until the usual age where kids start talking, which won't be for several months."

That was fine with me. Since I wanted to know who had taken me in and what they might be saying about me, listening was better than talking. If the woman was a good person and wanted to adopt me, I'd be on my best behavior. If she wasn't, I'd be such a bother that she'd pass me off to someone else. And if that second person wasn't adequate, I'd keep moving until (a) I managed to fend for myself, or (b) found a caretaker that would be a good parent.

"Okay, Amelia, I need you to close your eyes and clear your mind," Destiny instructed.

I obeyed. A second later, I felt a finger on my forehead, followed by a jolt of electricity shooting through my head, my brain suddenly filled with words, information, and images. The finger pulled away, but I kept my eyes closed.

"It'll take a little while for your brain to process what I've given you, so don't be surprised if your head aches or you feel dizzy for the next day or so." Destiny's voice was growing softer, as though she were fading away. "In the meantime, get some rest. You'll need it."

* * *

Looking at the infant, Antoinette felt her heart melt. She was a pretty little thing, and so quiet! It was hard to believe that someone had abandoned such a sweet babe. It had been a surprise to hear the child's cry outside in that weather, though it wasn't the first time she'd found a child on the doorstep.

Not surprisingly, the Opera Populaire was one of the few places in Paris (besides the orphanage) where parents could leave unwanted children without questions being asked. And considering that the young ones were put to work as soon as they were old enough to do _something _useful with themselves, it was no wonder the Opera was always well-staffed.

But to find such a quiet, well-mannered baby was a strange thing. Most of the young ones Antoinette found were the offspring of street whores or addicts of either drink or drugs. These babies always cried, and were always hungry, thin, and sickly. This one had only cried until she'd been cleaned up, and after that had fallen right to sleep. She even appeared to be healthy and well-fed.

"Anton, we must keep her," she told her husband, holding the baby close. "I don't want to hand her over to the costume mistresses, or the charwomen, not this time."

That's typically what happened with little girls: it was to the seamstresses or the cleaning women they went, at least until they showed talents in the other Opera departments. Makeup or painting backdrops were popular professions with females. If they were lucky, young women could get a position as a maid to the prima donna or prima ballerina, perhaps even becoming a servant to the wife of the manager or the patron.

Antoinette, however, was determined to keep this darling for herself. She'd always wanted a little girl, and here in her arms lay the answer to her prayers.

"Now, Anne, don't be hasty," her husband said, looking at the sleeping babe. "In time, you and I can have a dozen children; there's no rush."

She glared at him before putting the child back into the basket. To make it more comfortable, a soft, warm blanket had been added to line the bottom. By rocking the rounded basket back and forth, it was easy to keep the baby sleeping contentedly.

"I want her, and we are going to keep her, Anton Giry, whether you like it or not."

He sighed. "Alright, darling, if you say so. But how are the managers going to take this? Not to mention that you're inexperienced with raising babies, and how can I help you when I'm supervising the stagehands during the day? And what are we going to _call_ her?"

Hmm, that was a good question. Antoinette wanted a short, pretty name for her new daughter, something that was easy to say in order to get the child's attention. She might even have a nickname, if the original allowed it.

Her mind immediately turned towards her aunt's name. "We will name her Lisette. When she's older, perhaps we'll call her Lissie for short."

Anton looked at the sleeping face of his new daughter, and smiled. When his wife went to fetch a bottle and some milk, he leaned over the sleeping baby. "Lisette," he whispered to her, "I have a feeling you're going to be a handful to your mama and me."

Shaking his head, he went and sat down by the fire, lighting his pipe as he put his feet up.

* * *

Meanwhile, three sets of eyes watched the happenings within the Giry apartment. Two identical pairs of gold-and-silver eyes sparkled in approval and humor, evidently pleased with their work so far.

The third, however, was not so friendly. Emerald green orbs stared jealously at the newest member of the Opera House, knowing that the little girl was bound to cause some sort of trouble in the future. Girls always managed to cause trouble in the Opera Populaire; it was part of their nature. He would have to keep a close eye on her and make sure she didn't make any for others.

It was, after all, _his_ Opera House.

* * *

AN: I know, a shorter chapter, but I'm hoping that people enjoyed themselves. Please be kind and review! Thanks!


	3. Family Life

Disclaimer: I don't own anything _**Phantom of the Opera**_ (though I wish I did). Only original characters belong to me.

AN: In this chapter, we're going to skip through bit and pieces of Amelia/Lissie's childhood because it's pretty basic and normal. The more exciting stuff will start next chapter, I promise. Thanks for reading, and please review! Thanks!

**Chapter 3: Family Life:**

"Lissie, do not let your sister cry too much while I am working," Mama ordered as she set Meg on the blanket in the corner.

I nodded my head. "Yes, Mama," I replied. "Will I be practicing my dancing today?"

She smiled and caressed my cheek. "No, darling, not today. Perhaps tomorrow, after your knees are better from your little fall."

As I settled onto the blanket, I reached into the basket I was carrying, grabbing for Meg's favorite toy. Holding the small pink stuffed bear in front of her, I watched her tiny hands reach out eagerly, her face lit up by a bright smile as she grabbed it.

It had been nearly seven years since Anton and Antoinette Giry had taken me in, and to my surprise, I was rather enjoying myself –well, despite a constant feel of technological withdrawal. I was still getting used to the whole lack of indoor plumbing and no electric lights _anywhere_, not to mention the lack of central heating and air conditioning.

Plus, being an adult in a baby's body is not easy, nor is it very fun. Diapers in the 1800s are _not_ very effective, so needless to say, I potty trained as soon (and as fast) as I could. And the way they feed babies during this century is nothing like the 21st century –apparently baby formula hadn't been perfected yet, so I'd been subjected to all sorts of dietary experiments by my new parents. Those hadn't been fun, either.

Of course, there was also the fact that Destiny really couldn't tell the difference from an infant and a toddler. Great and powerful she may be, but it seemed she wasn't very experienced when it came to babies. As it turned out, I was more in the line of an infant, so the limited amount of movement in my limbs had kept me from doing pretty much anything I wanted to. That, and the fact that I hadn't been able to talk for at least a year had made me extremely cranky for a long time.

'_Thank goodness for my toddler years_,' I thought, brandishing another stuffed animal in front of Meg's small nose. She gave a drooling smile and laughed.

In my eagerness to move about, I had done my best to learn to walk, run, and potty train as soon as possible. This had made my foster parents rather surprised, but also proud. My unusual tendency for being a quiet baby most of the day, not to mention sleeping through the night, had also come as a welcome surprise to them.

Sadly, there was a down side of my good behavior and accomplishments: I was now under strict orders from Destiny to not make myself 'unusually gifted.' Believe me; Destiny in an angry mood can be very intimidating.

* * *

She had come to me when I'd turned three years old. At the time, I'd been attempting to learn to read and write in both French and English, which apparently was _not_ a good thing for me to be doing at that age. But what else was I supposed to do to amuse myself? Besides, I had been an avid reader in my previous life, and living without books was driving me crazy.

This, of course, was my downfall. One night, just after I'd drifted off into dreams, I found myself face-to-face with a very tall, very angry Destiny, her hair a flaming blue to reflect her mood. Even worse, she was glaring at me with glowing gold-silver eyes.

"Let me get to the point of this little visit, Amelia," Destiny had said, arms crossed. "I am _not_ happy with you right now. You're drawing attention, which is the last thing we need. Right now, you're supposed to look and act like an ordinary child, but you're pushing your skills in reading and writing far too quickly. We _don't_ need you to become the Opera House's child prodigy, because it would lead you away from what you're _supposed_ to be doing."

She continued speaking even as my dream-self quaked in fear. "Right now, I don't think you fully realize the chance you've been given. You have a second chance at life, starting from infancy on through adulthood. That is an _extremely_ rare gift, so I want you to stop trying to grow up so fast and enjoy being a kid!"

* * *

Of course, Destiny had been right, but it was still hard to think and act like she wanted me to. Since I'd been an adult for so long, it was a bit difficult to get in touch with my 'inner child,' but I did my best.

It took a while, but in the end, I was able to find my 'groove.' I allowed myself to play with dolls and dress them up, something I hadn't done in nearly twenty years. I could get into all sorts of trouble without being punished (mostly), and when I was caught, I was soon forgiven because I 'didn't know better.' Then there were the times when Mama (as I now called Madame Giry) let me lick the spoon whenever she made chocolate éclairs for the family. My mother in the 20th century had never baked a thing in her life.

But the best thing about this new childhood was the little toddler cooing and laughing presently sitting right beside me. I'd thought that, with me set in place as daughter to Madame Giry, there might have been the chance that Meg would never exist. But here she was, and being a big sister was completely new to me. I liked it, though. Marguerite (nicknamed Meg) was the sweetest baby imaginable, and I loved being able to take care of her.

A small cry rose from the soft pink blanket, and I leaned over to look into Meg's blue eyes, so different from my own dark brown ones. "Shh, sweetie," I whispered as the dancers took their places. "Lissie is here, don't worry."

Now that she had my attention, Meg calmed down and smiled. The dancers, silly girls that they were, just giggled and whispered how cute I was before Mama glared at them, snapping them into silence. Mama had been made ballet mistress over a year ago, just after Meg was born, and already the girls feared her. It was fun watching them squirm under her gaze.

However, it wasn't so funny when those grey eyes turned on _me_, and after seven years of living under the same roof, believe me when I say that I would know when Mama was upset with me. Right now, she was looking my way, but she was merely annoyed that the girls were more fascinated with her daughters than with their dance steps.

"Ladies! We start from the beginning!"

Watching the girls practice, I had to wince as Mama's walking cane kept time on the floor. One day, I would have to dance like them; it was expected of me, the ballet mistress's daughter. Meg would follow for sure, but I was feeling rather pessimistic about my future in dance. First of all, I was clumsy. Second, I really didn't want to _be_ a dancer.

Naturally, in this day and age, I didn't have a choice in careers. I could either be a dancer, a singer, a seamstress, a maid to the prima donna or prima ballerina, or a cleaning woman; none of these sounded thrilling. I mean, as a seven-year-old, I should have been eager to be a dancer or singer, but neither one sounded like the job for me. The only way I'd be a good dancer is if Destiny put a bit of magical talent on me, and the only way I'd be a good singer was if I got the Phantom to teach me, which wasn't going to happen.

And speaking of the infamous masked man, I hadn't seen a glimpse of him yet. Others told of their encounters with him, but not me. Alright, I was a youngster, but I still wanted to at least see the guy.

"Lisette," Mama called to me. "Would you feed Meg, please? She is getting fussy."

I fetched the little basket that held our lunches and handed my sister a crust of bread to chew on. Her teeth were coming in, and she needed something to teethe on. I, on the other hand, had a small meat pie that Mama had baked last night. Papa was supposed to have all three pies for his lunch today, but he'd given me one in secret.

"You're a growing girl," he'd whispered. "You should eat lots of your mother's good cooking!" Papa was the funny one in the family, and the only one to make Mama laugh –well, besides me and Meg.

Our meal finished, I picked up one of the children's books Mama had given me and tried to read it while keeping an eye on Meg. Babysitting my sister wasn't difficult or anything, since Meg could keep herself busy for hours with just two of her toys. I couldn't delve too far into my book, though, because Mama didn't like it when I wasn't paying attention to Meg.

Of course, I had to be careful when and what I read in public, particularly since I was an adult in a child's body. My mind longed for something more challenging to read than fairy tales, but that would be impossible for a while yet. Meanwhile, I'd do my best to obey Destiny and hide my intelligence from others until the time was right.

Hours later, the dance session was over, and the girls floated over to me, eager to ply Meg with coos and me with little toys and props they'd stolen from the Opera's storage rooms. My bedroom was filled with pretty and unusual objects, most of them having no function whatsoever. I loved them.

A harsh tapping on the floor sent the girls scurrying back to their dormitory. Within seconds, Mama, Meg and I were alone.

"Lissie, gather up Meg," Mama ordered. "I must get home before your father and see if the stew is done."

"Yes, Mama," I said, picking my sister up to follow.

* * *

Five years later:

"Lisette, you are not spinning fast enough!" Mother yelled, rapping her staff on the floor. "And that kick is too low!"

From her corner of the room, Meg giggled, then quieted at a look from our mother. When I next faced her direction, I risked a little wink, which she returned with one of her own.

"Now, turn again!" Mother ordered, "And don't forget to jump higher this time!"

Sweat dripped down my back, but I dared not show my discomfort. If I could finish the routine correctly, I'd be able to relax tomorrow; if not, I'd have to do it again very early in the morning.

When I finished, two arms elegantly placed in their positions, I waited, my ears listening for either a disapproving reprimand or a sign of approval. I didn't dare move, knowing that if I did, my chances of a repeat session would increase.

A sigh, and a slight tap on the floor sounded before my mother spoke. "Very well, Lissie, you are finished. Tomorrow, you rest, but the next day, you must practice harder! Is that understood?"

I lowered my arms and began warming down my body so I wouldn't ache tonight. "Yes, Madame."

She nodded. "Meg, come along. You shall see your sister later at home."

Meg looked at her with pleading blue eyes. "May I walk home with her, Mama?" she asked. "She would be safer with another person."

Mama nodded her head. "Very well," she consented. "I will see you back at the apartment."

Once we were alone, Meg rushed over to me. "You were lovely, Lissie!" she exclaimed happily, bouncing around with energy only a six-year-old could produce at this time of night.

Chuckling, I finished my stretches and went to fetch the ebony cane Mama had given me. I carried it to protect myself while walking through the Opera's dark hallways. Quite a few of the men weren't afraid to take liberties with women, both willing and not, and even though I was barely thirteen, some of those men liked their girls young. The ebony cane gave them other ideas when it came to approaching me.

Hefting the stick in one hand and holding Meg's hand in the other, I walked us home. Several men we passed smirked when they saw how tight the top of my practice costume was getting. Yup, the breasts were coming, and soon, I'd probably get "The Talk" from Madame, which I wasn't looking forward to. I knew about all that, and I didn't need the 19th Century version, which was probably very toned down or extremely incorrect.

Fortunately, we made it home intact, and Papa was there to greet us, a broad smile on his face when he saw the two of us come in.

"There are my girls!" he boomed, scooping Meg up with one arm and pulling me close with another. "Have you been good for your mother today?"

Meg nodded, her blonde hair bouncing around her head. "But Lissie got yelled at for not dancing right," she said, blue eyes twinkling.

I sighed and brushed my brown hair away from my face, not bothering to correct her.

Papa chuckled and set Meg down. "Now, sweetheart, don't tattle on your sister. Let's go help Mama with supper, huh?"

Nodding, we followed him into the kitchen, smiling at the sound of Mama's curses as she found out the potatoes had cooked too long and were now tough as leather. It sounded like we might have to go out to eat…again.

* * *

Christmas, that same year:

"Lissie?" Meg asked, her voice soft and teary. "When is Papa coming back?"

Pausing outside Mama's closed door, I was close to tears myself. "Papa's not coming back, dearest," I whispered, pulling her away from Mama's room. "He's gone to heaven with the angels, remember?"

What a fine way to start the New Year: just days ago, we had lost someone who was a good man, a loving husband, and a wonderful father. Thanks to a shopping trip for Christmas presents, and a particularly nasty cold, our beloved Papa was gone.

Our mother was a wreck. She rarely came out: she appeared only to prepare meals for Meg and me, and to nibble some food herself before using the privy and returning to her room. It had been _their_ room, but now it was just hers. Papa was no longer here to share it with her.

"Meg," I whispered to her, "why don't we go to the dance room? I will teach you a few steps, and then you can dance for Mama and cheer her up. You can use my old shoes."

She lit up at that prospect. Even though she was six years old, Mama hadn't begun instructing her in dance yet, which surprised me. Meg was supposed to be a skilled dancer in the _**Phantom of the Opera**_ book and the movie; why hadn't Mama started teaching her yet? Was it because I was here, making it so that Meg wasn't an only child?

'_Well, it's time to fix that_,' I thought, rummaging through my belongings and finally coming up with the desired shoes.

Grabbing Meg's hand, the walking stick, and the keys to the apartment, we headed out into the Opera's hallways, trying to ignore the sympathetic looks of the other workers. Several had sent flowers, and some of the stagehands had offered to help with any 'manly tasks' that needed to be done. Since Mama had been grief-stricken, I had thanked them for their generosity and said we would let them know if we needed help. They seemed to understand that well enough.

Inside the practice room, I shut the door securely and handed Meg the shoes. "Put those on and then we will begin," I said, smiling encouragingly at her. "You know how, right?"

She nodded, having seen me do it hundreds of times. In minutes, Meg was laced into the ballet slippers and warming up, just like I did every morning and evening. Watching her move, I knew she was a natural.

Two hours later, Meg was flitting around the room like a little hyperactive pixie. She leaped, spun, and danced with every bit of childlike innocence she possessed, and I knew she would be able to pull our mother out of her rut. I decided to show Meg's talent to Mama in the morning, after she made us breakfast.

The next morning, I pleaded the need to practice my dancing. Meg and I both ended up fairly dragging Mama there, her protesting every step of the way. Seeing me dance _did_ seem to cheer her up, but when Meg put on my shoes and began to skip about, our mother's face changed entirely.

"Oh, my goodness," she whispered. "What a darling she is!"

As her face lit up and joyful tears flowed down her cheeks, I knew that things would be fine.

Of course, how was I to know that, within a few years, things would also start getting really _interesting_?

* * *

AN: A lot more fun and excitement coming soon, I promise. Please be kind and review! Thanks!


	4. Encounters in the Dark

Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Phantom of the Opera. Only original characters and concepts are mine.

AN: This is where the fun starts to happen. Most of our favorite characters are here (cough, Erik, cough), so it should be a little entertaining, at least. Enjoy the chapter, and please review! Thanks!

**Chapter 4: Encounters in the Dark:**

Standing before the dancers, I glanced over at my mother and nodded. She returned it with one of her own, then signaled for the pianist to begin playing. As music filled the air, the ballerinas moved out of their posed positions and began the routine. I, however, was not one of them.

* * *

Things had become a touch more complicated with the death of my father, Anton Giry. With Papa gone, we females were in need of more money to support our family. Meg had been far too young to work, and Mother was always so busy rushing between her job, tending to Meg, and instructing me in ballet, that she was slowly working herself to the point of exhaustion. The money she made kept us fed and clothed, but little was left over for other needs, like gifts for birthdays or even a proper hairbrush.

Obviously, working in an Opera House is hard on a person. In my past life, I'd had a relatively soft living, meaning that I hadn't done much physical labor. This time, however, I'd been through the grueling instruction of a mother who was also my ballet mistress, and so my body was strong and in damn good shape, so I could work harder to be in the ballet. That was the good news. The bad news was that, when I turned thirteen, Mama told me that I just wasn't good enough for the stage.

"Make no mistake, _petite_," Mother assured me one day. "You are a good dancer, but not enough to be part of an opera performance. To be a ballerina means you must be a _glorious_ dancer, not an average one."

Now, that hurt. I'd worked my butt off for years, and now I apparently wasn't good enough for the stage? Why couldn't she have given me a break? And where did that leave me in the scheme of things?

"I have taught you all I can, but I know you do not have the heart of a ballerina," she said with her most gentle smile. "You know every step I can teach, but you lack the passion and will to become the prima ballerina I long for you to be."

Okay, that was true enough. I liked dancing, if only because it was fun and made me less clumsy (I used to trip over my own feet in my old life). The only reason I _hated_ it was because I didn't want to do it for a living; it just wasn't for me. Thankfully, Mama had a solution.

A week after our little chat, she dragged me into the office of the Opera's manager, Monsieur Lefevre, to announce to the two of us that I would become her assistant.

"Though she is not of professional ability, Lisette knows each step and arm movement by heart. She can assist me with the younger dancers, fetch things that are needed, and help with Meg," Mama declared, head held high.

Amazingly, Monsieur Lefevre agreed with her, and gave me the position, as well as a modest income to go with it. I wasn't old enough to earn what a fully adult ballet assistant would, but the amount was enough to help buy whatever necessities we needed.

Though I should have been grateful, at the time I'd felt that I had been downgraded from ballerina to a "go-fer," someone whose job was to "go for this" or "go for that." Not only that, but Meg had begun her training to become the prima ballerina; she would be practicing all day long, leaving me with nothing to do but watch her and the others dance. The prospect of spending my days watching the dancers as a wallflower was depressing.

Leave it to my mother to take my job, tip is upside down and shake it up. Instead of sitting around, being bored, _I_ was put in charge of teaching Meg, and her age group, to dance!

"But, if I'm not good enough for the stage, how can I teach Meg?" I asked Mama in a panic.

She'd waved aside my protests. "You know the steps and how they should look. Teach her, as well as the younger girls, the basics of ballet. Once you can teach them no further, I will continue the lessons in your stead."

And so I'd begun my job as assistant to the ballet mistress. The positions certainly _sounded_ important, but I didn't really think it was, even if Mama believed it to be. But since I was actually getting paid for my efforts, I decided to put up with it, if only because it helped my family. That put a slightly different spin on things, and so I chose to stick with it as long as I was wanted.

* * *

Now, three years later, here I was: sixteen years old, and feeling like I was forty.

Maybe it was because my mind/soul was technically equal to forty years of age, but I think it was because I spent more time with Mother than with other girls my age. Still, I couldn't spend time with the ballerinas that were the same physical age as me, because it would look like I was favoring them above the older dancers. There were only two ballerinas close to my age who I could spend time with, but that was because we were family.

Scanning the dancers, I scowled, looking like a mirror image of my mother. "Meg, get your leg up higher when you kick!" I snapped, sounding eerily like Mama. "Christine, that is _not_ how your arm is supposed to be positioned for that turn! Bend it, and spread your fingers delicately so it doesn't look like you're trying to hit something!"

Yes, I had said "Christine," as in Christine Daae. She had been brought to the Opera House not long after I'd started my job as Mama's assistant. One day, after receiving Monsieur Daae's summons, my mother had left at once, and a week later, had brought back little eight-year-old Christine, the person who would break poor Erik's heart.

It was an event I had been expecting for quite some time, but still, I had _not_ been happy with it. Since I'd seen the movie and musical, I knew exactly what would happen, and because of that knowledge, I couldn't bring myself to like the girl who, in a decade, would leave a man broken and sobbing in an underground cavern.

Well, even I can be wrong sometimes.

The music stopped and the ballerinas ended the dance at exactly the right moment. Most looked slightly wilted and exhausted from the day's work, but they kept up their serene ballerina faces, the ones they would wear on stage for performances. I looked over at my mother, wondering if she would push for another run through the number, and was relieved when she nodded.

"Alright, that is enough for now," Mother said, rapping her walking stick on the floor. "But we start early tomorrow morning, so no drinking tonight! I will not have my dancers staggering in to rehearsal tomorrow, ill to their stomachs!"

I noticed a few sulking looks, as well as frustrated ones, and threw the girls a sly wink. That brought a smile to their faces, even if they were weak ones. As I watched them file out of the room, I saw Mama take Meg and Christine over to "our" little corner, the same one where I had played as a baby, and where I'd looked after an infant Meg. Now it was where the Giry family met after rehearsals.

"Mama, I still don't think it is a good idea to have Meg and Christine practicing with the ballerinas," I said gently. Considering that both Meg and Christine were only eleven-years-old, I thought they should be practicing with the younger girls.

Mother, of course, dismissed the idea immediately. "Meg is too advanced for her age group," she said, just like she did every time I brought it up. "She is better off here."

Her excuse for Christine was that the poor girl didn't fit in well with the other dancers, and had to be put where I, her older foster sister, could keep an eye on her. Since I had grown fond of her, I had accepted the task.

Yes, I really was fond of Christine Daae. I felt as though I should hate her, especially when she looks up at me with those pretty blue-grey eyes and a slightly vacant, yet innocent, look on her face, but I can't. For this, I partially blame my boss, Destiny.

* * *

After watching the movie and musical, I'd hated Christine for being a silly, clueless girl who preferred that fop Raoul to the seductive Phantom. When Madame Giry had first brought her to the Opera House, I was bent on hating Christine, even though she wouldn't really be doing anything for another eight or ten years.

It took a proverbial slap from Destiny to knock some sense into me.

"Give the poor girl a chance," she had ordered, three nights after my new foster sister had been brought to the Opera House. "Christine hasn't yet become the girl who destroys the Phantom's heart, so try and get to know the poor thing before judging her for future events. Who knows, you might even influence her to follow a different path."

* * *

To keep Destiny happy, I'd decided to follow her advice. It took a few months, but eventually, I warmed up to Christine –after all, she _was_ my foster sister, and apparently, she wanted to impress me as much as my mother, Madame Giry. Christine actually looked up to me as much as Meg did, and when she was put to work as a dancer, she began to respect me because I was deemed good enough to teach them the ways of ballet.

"Lissie, can you teach me the arm movements again?" Christine asked as she toweled her face dry.

I nodded. "But after supper. You need to rest and wash up, as does Meg. Go home with Madame, and I will meet you there. I have to see the costume mistresses about a few things."

She looked uneasy at the idea, but went along with Mother and Meg, leaving me alone. None of them needed to worry; I could defend myself. Most women in this century didn't know how to fight off an attacker, but since I remembered some basic self-defense moves from my previous life, I was able to take care of myself.

The men in the Opera had learned of my defense abilities the hard way. After I'd reached puberty and my breasts started to grow, I had received lots of propositions, and refused all of them, usually through force. It's kind of difficult for a man to misunderstand the meaning of 'no' when it comes in the form of a kick to the groin, a punch to the face, or a swift hit from a walking stick. I wasn't afraid to cause serious harm, and after the first couple times I'd been accosted, the whole Opera House knew it.

Sadly, that didn't stop the men from trying to get me into their beds. I'd grown up into a pretty young girl, with dark brown hair and eyes, and it didn't help that, thanks to my daily ballet exercises, my body was slim and in good shape. I wasn't tall, much to my disappointment, but I'd learned to live with it.

Gripping my walking stick, I headed towards the costume department. All around me, the darkening hallways loomed, offering cover to the slimier stagehands and workers; those were the ones who made life difficult for us females.

"Evening, Mademoiselle Giry," a rough voice said from one hallway.

"A bit dangerous to be out on your own in the dark," whispered another voice.

Wary, I looked around, and was unnerved to see three men step out of the shadows. One stood before me, one to my left, and another had come from somewhere behind me. There was a hallway to my right, but it was unlit, and might possess more attackers. Even armed as I was with my walking stick, I knew I was in trouble. One or two men I could handle; add a third, and there was no chance. In my previous existence, I hadn't been taught to fight three men at once.

The men seemed to know I couldn't handle the three of them, and were quick to grab me. One snatched my walking stick away, twisting my wrists so that I lost my grip on it. Another cupped a hand over my mouth to silence me while the third wrapped a hand around my throat, silently indicating that if I tried to scream, I'd regret it.

In the darkened hallway, I closed my eyes and began to pray. If no one came, I would be in serious trouble.

As I prayed for helped, the hand around my throat suddenly stiffened, tightening briefly before losing its grip. Surprised, I opened my eyes and was startled to see one of the men clawing at his throat. Since we were almost completely surrounded by darkness, I could not see who was there, attacking one of my captors. But even in the darkness, I could see that my two other attackers appeared ready to wet themselves in panic.

Struggling to catch my breath, I saw the man on my left flee as fast as he could while the one on my right stood there, petrified with fear. Meanwhile, both he and I watched as the mysterious force strangled the third man. I could make out a white rope around the man's neck, and part of me knew who was saving my life.

'_But why would he do this_?' asked that part of me. '_He doesn't even know me_!'

'_Who cares_?' the rational part of me snapped. '_He's saving your life_!'

Finally, the rope released its victim, sending the body down to the floor. The last man standing had apparently had enough, and raced after his other accomplice, not bothering to look back.

I suppose I should have been quaking in fear, too, but I was too busy trying to get air back into my lungs. The white rope that had dealt with one of my attackers seemed to float on its own in the shadows, coil up neatly in front of my eyes.

After I'd swallowed a bit to wet my throat, I managed to croak out into the darkness, "Thank you."

To my surprise, a voice answered me. "You are welcome."

And my god, _what_ a voice it was! Deep, male, but strangely musical and soothing, I wasn't sure if my heart was racing from fear, or from another emotion altogether.

"Are you alright?" the voice whispered as the rope vanished, possibly behind a black cloak or into a coat.

Nodding, I croaked out, "I'm fine."

"You don't look well." A hand, clad in a black leather glove, gently gripped my arm.

It was a good thing he was so near, because at that moment, my mind and body decided to send me into unconsciousness.

* * *

I woke up in my own bedroom, on my bed, with my mother hovering protectively over me. Her face, usually so composed and serene, was filled with love and worry as she looked down at me from her perch on the bed. The single candle on the nightstand illuminated her in a faint halo of light.

Sighing, I blinked up at her, my eyelids heavy. "Mama? What happened?"

"Lisette, my dear one, are you alright?" she blurted out, a hand on my forehead. "You scared me half to death! My god, I should never have let you go out alone in the Opera House. What was I thinking?"

Reaching out, I took her hand and squeezed it, recalling everything that had happened. "It's alright, Mama," I whispered. "I'm alright, and you know you can't protect me forever. I can take care of myself."

She gave me a warm smile, something she reserved only for three people: me, Meg, and Christine. "Nonetheless, you are not to go about the Opera House without someone with you, understood? I will walk with you after rehearsals, or your sisters can accompany you. No," she held up a hand to still my protests, "no arguments. Go back to sleep; you need your rest so you can heal."

Too tired to disobey, I relaxed into my pillows and closed my eyes. It might have been my imagination, but I could have sworn I saw a face in the darkened corner of my room, the flickering candlelight glistening off a white mask and a tall male figure.

* * *

AN: A little taste of Erik, but the next chapter will be all about him, I promise! Please be kind and review! Thanks!


	5. He's There, The Phantom of the Opera

Disclaimer: I don't own anything _**Phantom of the Opera**_ (though I wish I did). Only original characters belong to me.

AN: This chapter is all Erik's POV, mostly in flashbacks, but its still him. He'll be in many more upcoming chapters, so don't worry about being Erik-deprived in the future. Please enjoy the chapter, and don't forget to review! Thanks!

**Chapter 5: He's There, The Phantom of the Opera**:

Watching the girl fall into peaceful slumber, Erik sighed. He'd always known she would be trouble –women always were, no matter what age. Meek or outright, tall or short, old or young, he'd seen them cause chaos wherever they went.

'_Well, except Antoinette_,' he thought.

His friend and occasional confidant was the exception to the rule. Wherever Antoinette Giry went, order and silence tended to follow; it was how she kept her dancers in line, and the stagehands away from her daughters.

Until today, of course.

And speaking of Antoinette, the woman was giving him that disapproving glare of hers. There were few people that _didn't_ quiver in their shoes whenever she looked at them that way, and Erik wasn't one of them. Though he was taller, stronger, and quicker in reflexes than her, there was no way he could bear that glare of hers.

Understanding that she wanted him to leave so that Lisette wouldn't see him, Erik bowed his head and slid into the shadows of the outer room, thankful that the other girls were already asleep in their beds. Antoinette would assume he'd left through the door; she would be furious if the secret passageway leading right to Lisette's bedroom wall were to be discovered.

Slipping through the cold, dark passages that wound through the walls of the Opera House, Erik descended into the caves that were his home. He passed many elaborate carvings, all of them done in fits of anger, pain, sadness, or loneliness. Throughout the years, Erik had used his artistic abilities to create these works, channeling his emotions through his fingers and hands rather than keep them bottled up inside. It helped, sometimes.

Tonight, he chose to use the boat rather than walk the passageways, preferring the shimmering light of the gas-lit lamps on the water to the shadow-filled caves. When he was in the boat, he could pretend he was rowing among stars, gliding through the dizzying vastness of the universe. It was soothing to him.

All too soon, the gondola scraped against rock, and he was home. Few candles had been left lit, but he quickly remedied that. His home filled with light, Erik turned towards his private journals and began to write of the day's events.

Dipping the pen into the inkwell, he found himself chuckling into the darkness. Him, the Phantom of the Opera, kept a journal like the silly ballerinas did. He was sure, however, that his entries were far more serious and interesting than the ramblings of Antoinette's dancers.

This unexpected writing habit had started when a certain baby turned up on the Opera House's steps. Erik had never kept a journal before then, since there was nothing in his life he wanted to remember –the only event that shone brightly in his memory was when a young Antoinette rescued him from the gypsies. Beyond that, his life had been too full of pain and torment to want to keep a memoir of.

The appearance of little Lisette Giry had significantly changed the balance that Erik had tried to make of his life in the Opera House. As far as he'd been concerned, everything had been fine until then: the managers had learned to obey his demands, the workers feared the mere thought of him, and Antoinette had been a content newlywed, dancing in the ballet while her husband ruled over the stagehands.

'_Who would have thought one little baby could cause so much turmoil_?' Erik grumbled to himself.

Well, alright, perhaps she wasn't as much of a troublemaker as Erik thought she was. If he were to be honest (something he never was, if he could help it), Erik would have to grudgingly admit that he was more than a little jealous of the eldest Giry child. How could he not be, when she had stolen all of Antoinette's attention away from him and focused it on her?

Of course, that was neither right nor fair, but that's what Erik had believed, at least at first.

* * *

For ten years, Antoinette had been the center of his world, starting on the day of his rescue from the gypsies. They had been mere children then, but she quickly became both a sister and caretaker to him, the one person in the entire world who cared if he ate, slept, and stayed in good health. It was Antoinette who had taught him the basics of cooking and cleaning, and it was she who had helped him haul furniture and other necessities down to his (then) new underground home.

Years passed, and Antoinette had come to see him as often as her dance rehearsals allowed. She brought him treats sometimes, usually in the form of food cooked in the Opera's kitchens, or cookies from her visits into Paris. Once in a while, she would take forgotten and unused bolts of cloth from the store rooms and smuggle them to him so he could make clothes.

But the best part of her visits was the encouraging (and sometimes bossy) talks she would give him. Even at that young age, Antoinette had made her mind heard, and Erik had had the sense to at least listen to her whenever she sat him down for a talk –well, at least at first.

And when she'd discovered Erik's artistic abilities, Anne (as he called her) had tried to encourage these skills by taking him old tools and bits of materials that the props makers had tossed aside. Very soon, his home was filled paints, brushes (in very poor condition), wood carving instruments, canvas and wood to create easels, and lastly, an organ the two of them had worked so hard to drag down and piece together here in his home.

More time passed, and slowly, Erik and Antoinette settled into a friendship and routine that was comfortable for both of them. She would visit him once or twice a week, bringing supplies, companionship, and gossip from the world outside. In return, Erik offered her gifts in the form of his latest artistic creations, ranging from jewelry or music boxes, to a hand-crafted necklace or bracelet. He even gave her things for her birthday or Christmas.

For a time, they were contented this way –Erik had someone to talk with, and Antoinette had a friend who shared her distaste of the silly ballerinas and the obnoxious diva. She had even taught him to dance and move gracefully, so that he would not be heard moving through the hidden corridors within the walls –for this skill alone, he was immensely grateful.

The only rough spot in their friendship was the day Erik decided to create an income for himself, namely by extorting money from the Opera House manager, Monsieur Lefevre. By using threats, as well as the threat of blackmail, Erik was able to make more money in a month than most Parisians made in years. Antoinette did not approve of this, and lectured him on it many times, but Erik refused to listen. She had wanted him to come out of the shadows and try to obtain a 'real' work position in the Opera House, but to Erik, the idea was ridiculous.

"What makes you think anyone would be willing to pay a deformed monster like me to work for them?" he spat whenever she scolded him. "How else am I to afford clothes, shoes, and other necessities? Do you honestly think the funds would have originally gone towards future opera productions? Most likely it will be spent on the prima donna's whims and demands!"

Eventually, even Antoinette could not argue with that, especially when it was true. Most of the money went towards productions, but quite a bit of it went to pacify the expensive demands of the prima donna and her entourage. In the end, Anne decided she would rather see the money go to Erik instead of the diva, though she wasn't happy with it. She also thought that his demand for Box 5, the most expensive Box in the Opera, was too much to ask, but did not argue with him about that.

This argument was eventually settled between them, but everything soon changed when Antoinette met Anton Giry, the Opera's newest hire.

A tall, handsome man with blonde hair and bright blue eyes, Anton had immediately caught the attention of every woman in the Opera Populaire, including Antoinette's. Erik had disliked him, if only because he was jealous of the fellow's looks, but there was really nothing Erik could do to prevent Anton from courting Anne. After all, Antoinette was her own self, and if she wanted to be courted, then Erik wouldn't stop it, no matter how much he wished he could. And though he was reluctant to share his only friend with someone else, Erik was able to let Antoinette be courted, wed, and moved into a large apartment with her new husband.

During the first few weeks of her marriage, he had watched over her, wanting to make sure she was happy and that Anton Giry was everything he appeared to be. Erik didn't know whether to be relieved or angry at discovering that Anton was in fact the kind, caring man he seemed. However, Antoinette still visited Erik in his home, albeit a bit less frequently, but he was able to content himself with that.

Of course, just as things were settling back into place, that little bundle of trouble arrived on the Opera's doorstep. Erik had been willing to accept his friend's marriage, but a child was something he thought would be long in coming to the Girys.

The night Antoinette had brought the baby girl into her apartment, Erik had been sure that the child would be given over to one of the all-female departments in the Opera. He'd known that the costume mistresses and laundresses were in need of help, as were the charwomen who scrubbed the floors, so finding the baby girl a home would not have been difficult.

He'd been _unpleasantly_ surprised when he heard Anne was determined to keep the baby and raise her as if she were Anne's own flesh and blood. Anton had been equally shocked, but had accepted the baby into their little home with little argument. From that day onwards, the newly dubbed Lisette was officially a Giry, and Erik once again had to accept a change to his carefully balanced world.

This new change, however, was far more extensive than Antoinette's marriage. Now that she had a baby to care for, Anne was not able to visit Erik as often as he liked, though she did her best to leave gifts and treats for him in Box 5. Anne even left notes about Lisette, telling him every detail about her new daughter, though Erik didn't need those slips of paper to know how the child was –he had a different method of learning about the Opera House's newest addition.

It had been entirely involuntary, at least at first. Completely uninterested in the cooing, proud letters Antoinette had been leaving for him, Erik had gone to her apartment to ask her to cease with that horrible waste of paper. The whole speech had been rehearsed in his mind, and he was more than ready to deliver it straight to her ears.

He made it as far as the hidden passage behind the nursery when his whole plan fell apart.

As he glanced through the special small mirror he'd installed in the wall, Erik saw something he had rarely observed in his life.

There, sitting on the floor, was Antoinette, baby Lisette in her lap as they both held and shook a wooden rattle. Once and a while, Anne would shake the rattle and make a silly smile, causing Lisette to laugh and shake the rattle in reply. At that point, it was Antoinette who was laughing, and soon the entire room was filled with love and laughter.

From that day on, almost against his will, Erik found himself pulled towards the family that Antoinette had created. Although he should have been insanely jealous, Erik felt unusually protective of his friend and her little girl, a feeling he could not understand, but which seemed right. It was maddening, but often seemed as though he were doing something important, not just for Anne, but for himself.

Although watching the family was not the same as being part of it, Erik felt a sense of wonder in observing Anne raise her child. He was fascinated by how quickly Lisette learned to crawl, walk, talk, and use a spoon. His favorite part of the day was watching her learn to run around the apartment rooms, which always drove Antoinette frantic.

Much to his surprise and delight, Lissie (as her parents called her)was far more mature than a child her age should be. At age three, she had been shown letters, colors, and numbers, all in a rudimentary step towards learning how to read and write. Lissie had picked those up remarkably fast, and once he saw how brilliant she was, Erik began leaving books, paper, pens and pencils for Antoinette to give her, in the hopes that Lissie would rise to greater heights than the rest of the Opera's workers. Anne thanked him for these gifts by leaving small tokens in Box 5, usually clumsy drawings or words that Lisette had learned to write out on her own. Even now, these accomplishments hung on various walls in his home.

Once Lissie turned five years of age and began ballet lessons, Erik expected to lose interest in her antics. Ballet had little appeal to him, and the immature natures of the dancers were enough to drive even Antoinette to distraction.

Again, he was proved wrong.

With each small dance routine Lissie accomplished, Erik felt a swell of pride. He didn't know why, but he felt good watching her achievements, especially when she was trying to mimic the older ballerinas and trying to appear more mature than them at the same time.

So deep was his fondness for the little doe-eyed brunette that it didn't even fade when her sister, Marguerite, was born. Erik had expected his interest to shift to Meg as well, since she was also Anne's daughter, but it didn't. Instead, he found himself ignoring the little blonde babe in favor of the elder sibling, a thing he couldn't understand. Perhaps it was because the child was not through engaging his interest.

The years following Meg's birth were just as interesting as the ones before, if only because Lisette's actions as an older sister were amusing to watch. Erik got much joy in watching her take care of her younger sister, even if it meant cleaning up her "messes."

After Meg's infancy and toddling years had passed, things became even more engrossing. Erik had never seen children mature in front of his eyes, and as Lisette grew, he was intrigued with how she was able to transform from a child into a young adult, and of the natures and personalities she showed while growing.

In short, Erik knew everything there was about young Lisette Giry.

* * *

Setting down his pen, Erik stretched his arms and sighed. He never thought that a girl who should have been his rival for Antoinette's attentions would interest him so. And though he had never met her, he liked many of her traits.

First, he admired how intelligent she was. Lisette's bedroom walls were full of history, literature, and art books she had purchased over the years with her (or her parents') hard-earned wages. She had loved books from the moment she'd learned her letters, and both her late father and Anne had done their best to keep her as educated as possible. Sadly, Lissie's mathematical skills were lacking, but as long as she could add, subtract, multiply and divide on a basic level, she was further ahead than most of the workers put together.

Secondly, he had seen how kind and loving Lissie could be with her sister. Considering who her mother and father were, that should not have been surprising. After the death of Anton Giry, Lisette had set out to take care of not only her sister, but also her mother and the newer addition to the Giry family, the fair Christine Daae. Lissie took special care of both her 'siblings,' making sure they ate well, cleaned up properly before church, and scolded them whenever they were naughty. Lisette also wasn't afraid to deliver a swift swat to the bottom if needed (and if her mother felt Meg or Christine rightfully deserved it).

Even more impressive was the amount of tolerance and patience Lisette could show. This was not only towards her sisters, but also to the fluff-brained ballerinas, even when the dancers were being difficult on purpose. If Erik had been in her place, he would have strung up the lot of them years ago.

But what Erik admired most of all was Lisette's broad streak of independence, a trait that was seriously lacking in most of the women residing in the Opera House. He could only guess that Antoinette had a hand in Lissie turning out the way she did, though there were a few things he could not imagine his old friend (and far less frequent visitor) doing. One of these was knowing self-defense.

Glancing over at a table, he saw a drawing he'd made of a thirteen-year-old Lisette. She wore a long brown dress, and in her hand was a walking stick much like her mother's. But instead of holding it in one hand, firmly and to one side, she gripped it as though she knew how to use it as a weapon. It was an intimidating image, one that Erik had captured after watching her knock out a stagehand with that same stick.

Erik shook his head. Where Lissie had learned to defend herself, he did not know –Antoinette would not have permitted her children to learn to fight, of that he was certain.

'_It was still not enough to save her this night_,' he thought, getting up in order to prepare for bed.

Indeed, Lisette had been fortunate that he had been keeping watch over her tonight. He usually did not keep guard over the Giry children, since they usually traveled the hallways with their mother or together in a group. No one dared assault the children of Madame Giry, particularly when she carried a great deal of influence within the Opera Populaire. And after Lisette had nearly crippled more than a few stagehands to protect herself and her sisters, the men usually left her alone.

She had not been so lucky this time. Erik had known it would only be a matter of time before one of the stagehands got their hands on her, and given her tendency for walking home alone once in a while, it would have happened sooner or later. Also, it didn't help that, at sixteen, she was the right age for courtship, and her pretty looks –thick, dark hair, brown eyes, and small, fit body– tended to attract attention.

Clenching his fists, Erik felt immense satisfaction at having dealt with one of Lissie's attackers. The other two would soon follow, no question –he hated unfinished work.

'_And I owe Antoinette at least a little piece of mind_,' he thought, easily justifying his violent actions. '_Besides, they deserved it_.'

Stretching himself out on his bed, he closed his eyes, content that he'd done a good day's work.

* * *

AN: More fun coming up next week! Okay, that sounded cheesy, but it's true. Anyway, please be kind and review! Thanks!


	6. Let the Games Begin

Disclaimer: I don't own anything _**Phantom of the Opera**_ (though I wish I did). Only original characters belong to me.

AN: Things are going to start getting interesting in this chapter, as Destiny shows up to tweak with our poor Lissie/Amelia. Hope you have fun, and please review! Thanks!

**Chapter 6: Let the Games Begin****:**

The worst part about working for Destiny was when she hacked my dreams. Most people would think that living without plumbing, electricity, or the Internet would drive me insane, but that wasn't the case. After sixteen years, I'd grown used to my step back in the technology department; it had been hard, but manageable. But the one thing I could not live with was having my dreams broken into when I needed the rest.

So it would figure that, a few hours after I was physically attacked, she would show up with instructions on what to do next.

"Hello, Amelia," she quipped in a cheerful voice. "I've got some instructions for you in order to get the ball rolling, so to speak."

I bit back a groan. Needless to say, it always annoyed me that Destiny never asked for permission to 'chat' with me in my dreams. She just appeared in her magical, nearly all-powerful form and either lectured me or told me what to do. I'm just lucky that her little 'drop-ins' were few and far between, which I suppose is a good thing –if she wasn't frequently popping in on me, I must be doing _something_ right, which was a good sign. Still, Destiny's rare appearances left me nervous and cranky the next morning, and that always left me unable to behave well towards my mother and sisters.

Tonight was no different than the other times she'd visited with directions on what to do. Hopefully it wasn't a lecture on how to act more "ladylike" to blend in, or something dumb like that. I refused to be like the ballerinas, and being stuck up like the prima donna was out of the question.

"Amelia, I think you should know that, from today on, things are going to start getting interesting."

I perked up at that. Finally, after years of waiting, I was going to actually see storyline unfold before my very eyes!

My excitement died as Destiny shook her head. "Sorry," she said, an apologetic look on her face, "but the story you know won't start for quite a while. For now, you have to start becoming Erik's teacher on how to be a decent person. He's already set foot on that path, but it's your job to make sure he stays on it."

Oh, yeah, piece of cake. I get to teach the Phantom how to be a nice guy; how hard could that possibly be?

'_I am __**so**__ in over my head here_,' I thought, biting my lower lip and wishing I could sit down.

That was crazy, of course; these little meetings were all in my head, so there was no real need to sit down. It was a reflex, I guess, but sitting down in this odd world of unconsciousness would have made me feel better…maybe.

Destiny sighed and patted my shoulder. "Don't worry, Amelia. Now that things are truly starting, I'll be able to help you a lot more than I did earlier. Before, I had to be sure that you would be able to fit into this century, and that you would be happy with your new family. I had to make sure that you were able to 'settle in' and be content with this life.

"Now that the Phantom has come out of hiding and shown himself to you, things have officially been set in motion. This is going to be one of the key points in both your life and his, so certain things must be done to ensure that everything goes accordingly."

I swallowed hard. "So…what does that mean?" I asked, my voice trembling.

Those gold-silver eyes gazed steadily at me, all seriousness. "It means that if you do not act now, both your future, and Erik's, will be greatly affected, and you will have failed in the task I sent you here for."

Uh, oh. If I failed, I would never get the reward she and her sister had promised me. Even worse, I might have to spend the rest of my life in this time period, living with the knowledge that I had completely ruined more than a few lives with my failure.

"Okay," I said, taking a deep breath. "Tell me what I have to do."

Destiny smiled.

* * *

In this case, my instructions were simple: I would have to make a kind gesture towards the Phantom (since I didn't know him well enough to call him Erik), and wait for his reaction. I would have to base everything else depending on what his reaction was.

"One step at a time," I muttered, looking at the bits of cloth and thread that sat on the bedside table.

After returning to consciousness, I'd promptly started thinking of what I could do to get the Phantom's attention. Destiny had suggested making him something heartfelt and personal, so I had to choose something I could make, and do a relatively good job on.

Such a project shouldn't be that difficult, considering that, during this century, many women knew how to craft a lot of things with their own hands. Cooking, cleaning, baking, and sewing were usually taught to little girls at a young age, and I wasn't any exception to that. However, at present, my cooking skills were slow to develop, much to Mother's disappointment, so anything food related was out of the question as a gift. And there was no way I was going to offer to clean his underground home, either.

Luckily, my sewing skills were decent enough, at least by 19th Century standards. Unlike my previous life, I now knew how to patch, stitch, hem, and repair my own clothes. In fact, I occasionally earned a little extra money fixing torn or ripped costumes for the costume mistresses, and they, in turn, had taught me how to do a few basic embroidery patterns, which I used on my family's clothing.

And so, for a thank-you gift, I decided on creating a set of handkerchiefs for the Phantom of the Opera. Yes, it was kind of a cheesy idea, but if I put my best effort into it, I believed I could put together something adequate enough for the infamous masked man. Armed with threads given to me by the costume mistresses, I started on my little project.

It was harder than I thought. As girly as it sounds, I had to find the right color combination, and figure out which designs I could use without making the whole thing look overly done or feminine. I decided to go with a simple combination of green vines and a vague outline of a rose done in black, tucked into the lower right hand corner. The red rose he would eventually be giving Christine wouldn't happen for quite a few years yet, so I chose not to give him any ideas, and leave the inside of the roses white.

Tangled in the corner of the handkerchiefs with the green vines were going to be the initials O.G. done in black thread. By now, everyone knew all about the infamous notes being passed to the Opera House's manager, so I might as well give the Ghost something he could call his own.

Even though the pattern wasn't too elaborate, and was confined to a single corner, it took me a week to finish stitching all of three handkerchiefs. My fingers were full of pinpricks and callused from the needle, not to mention that I'd had to start over three times, but I was able to finish my work. Mother knew nothing about it, of course; if she did, I'd have been locked in my room for a year, no doubt about it.

And since I'd worked on them in secret, I had to deliver them in secret as well. No one could know about my 'thank-you' gift, even if they did know all about the men the Opera Ghost had attacked. Mother had started a rumor that the men had gotten drunk and tried to go after the Ghost, and that the Phantom had lashed out at them in anger. That's why one of the men was dead and the other two had immediately quit their jobs, both of them babbling nonsense as they fled through the servant's doors. Apparently people believed the rumor, since no one mentioned those men again.

To keep my encounter with the Ghost a secret, I decided to slip into Box 5 and leave my gift there. Since Box 5 was off limits to everyone except the cleaning women, I could slip in and out with no one the wiser. The downside of this plan was that I had no idea if or when the Phantom would next be there and spot my present, but I figured if I left a note with O.G. on the front, people would leave it alone. No one messed with something that 'belonged' to the Ghost.

So that's what I did. With the handkerchiefs carefully tucked into a scrap of wrapping paper, I slid a small ribbon around it and tied it off with a bow. Beneath the ribbon was a small, simple note addressed to the Opera Ghost, practically guaranteeing it's safe delivery to him.

And so, taking a deep breath, I headed off to Box 5.

* * *

Watching Lisette walk towards Box 5, Erik felt curiosity get the better of him. In all the years he had kept an eye on her, he had never seen her anywhere near the expensive seats of the patrons, and couldn't help but wonder what she was up to.

'_Perhaps she is going to play a joke on the cleaning women_?' he asked himself.

No, Lisette was not the sort to do that. She had a respect for the hard-working women of the Populaire, and would never do anything to embarrass or harm them. Could she be meeting a lover?

Erik felt his gut clench at that idea. She was of courting age, but as of yet, had shown no interest in any of the men. Therefore, that idea made no sense, either.

Biting his lip, he watched her slip through the door, and decided to follow. Moving through the hidden passageways, he stole into the hollow marble pillar and slid the hidden door open a crack so that he could see what she was doing. He saw her place something small on a chair and run off, leaving him stuck in the pillar feeling puzzled and confused.

'_What in the world was that about_?' he wondered.

In the week following her attack, Erik had carefully followed Lisette around the Opera House in an effort to see to her safety. It was something done at Antoinette's request, and he was glad for it –the task not only pulled him away from his lonely home, but it also proved to be rather interesting.

At first, he had noticed that Lissie seemed rather preoccupied, but did not worry about it a great deal. Once she was with her mother and dancers at rehearsal, Lisette seemed to return to her usual self. After rehearsal, he watched as she visited the costume mistresses and bought several spools of fine thread in various colors. Believing her to be well, Erik decided that she was fine in Antoinette's capable hands. After all, when a woman begins buying pretty things for herself, things were bound to be back to normal soon.

But to see her here, of all places, was unusual, and he just couldn't stop himself from wanting to see what it was she had left in his private Box.

Slowly, carefully, he slid the hidden door open and crept out, walking on silent feet as he approached the chair, an elegant piece of craftsmanship made of mahogany and red velvet. On top of the cushioned seat was a white package the size of his palm, nicely done in white wrapping paper and a red ribbon tied around it, ending in a bow on top. Tucked neatly beneath the bow was a small card with the letters O.G. neatly written on it.

Astonished, Erik took the card and opened it. Inscribed there in a delicate hand were the words 'thank you,' and beneath them was the name, Lisette Giry.

Staring at the parchment, Erik felt his mind go blank for a moment. Once his mind was back in his body, Erik tucked the card into his coat pocket and undid the ribbon. After it was pulled loose, he tucked the length of material into his pocket with the card, intent on preserving them as long as possible. Then, taking a deep breath, he tore the wrapping paper open.

He nearly dropped the contents, his fingers gliding over the soft material and the careful stitching that decorated it. Fully unfolding the neat square, Erik saw it to be a small stack of handkerchiefs. From the light weight, there were three of them, and in the lower right corner were the initials O.G. Vivid green vines wound under and around the letters, and tucked within those vines were black-edged roses, their interior the same crisp white of the handkerchiefs.

Erik had no idea how long he stood there, staring at his hands and the priceless objects that sat there. Never before in his life had someone given him a thank-you present; not even Antoinette had done such a thing for him. The Populaire's workers often left bribes in Box 5 to 'pacify' the Ghost, but never an actual _gift_ of any kind.

And now he was at a loss at what to do next. The protocol for such an occasion was something he was not familiar with, and he dared not ask Antoinette for help. There was the chance she would disapprove of him contacting her eldest child, and he wanted very badly to have the opportunity to do…whatever it was he was supposed to do now.

'_Should I bring her a gift as well_?' he wondered.

No, that was silly. If he did that, there was the chance that she might leave one in return, and then it would start a cycle of gift-giving that neither one of them could afford to maintain for very long. Well, Erik could afford to, but not Lisette.

Wait a moment. Her birthday was fast approaching, wasn't it? Erik didn't know the exact date, but suspected it was near the day that Antoinette had found her on the Opera's doorstep. That was a week away, plenty of time for him to find or prepare the perfect gift.

Nodding to himself, Erik tucked the handkerchiefs into the front pocket of his coat and disappeared into the hollow pillar. He had work to do.

* * *

"Well, I have to say that I'm _very_ pleased with you, Amelia."

Jumping in surprise, I looked around and sighed. Man, I was really hoping for a non-Destiny encounter tonight. Oh, well; at least she was happy with me, this time.

"Uh, thanks," I said, looking around the odd little world she brought me to for our little 'encounters.' Most of the time, we were surrounded by darkness, the two of us standing on some sort of invisible plain while all around us was utter blackness. I think it was like that on purpose, probably because Destiny didn't want me getting distracted while she was lecturing me or giving me orders.

I clasped my hands and started twiddling my thumbs. "So, why am I here this time?"

She quirked an eyebrow in amusement. "Straight to the point today, aren't we?" I shrugged, which, for some reason, caused her to smile. "Alright, then, I'll get straight to the point. Now that we've started getting the Phantom's destiny on track, we have to make sure it stays that way."

Oh, wonderful, more orders. Biting back a sigh, I focused on what Destiny was saying.

"Right now, Erik is lost and confused by your kind gesture, so you can be sure that things might be a bit unsettling in the Opera House, at least for a little while. However, he is going to respond to it, so be prepared to act and behave accordingly."

_That_ I could understand. I mean, I doubt that poor Erik had ever received a gift in his life, so it was no wonder he'd be confused on how he should act in kind to it.

"You should also remember, Amelia, that not only do you have to make him into a decent man, but you must also ensure that he ends up with the right woman, namely someone he loves and who could love him in return."

Yeah, like _that_ could be easy. The only woman Erik was going to love would be Christine, and _that_ wouldn't happen for a few years, at least.

And speaking of which…

"What about Christine?" I asked. "Has he started teaching her to sing yet?"

Destiny shook her head. "No, not yet. He was supposed to have started when she first arrived at the Opera House, but since you are here to take care of her, that threw off the timeline quite a bit. I doubt he'll even consider coaching her until her voice has changed and matured, but it might be sooner than that. You'll have to keep your eyes open to see when that happens."

My stomach clenched. "Should I try and prevent him from teaching her?" I asked tentatively.

Again, Destiny shook her head. "If Christine doesn't learn to sing, she won't meet Raoul, who is her soulmate. She _must_ have her singing lessons, which will earn her the part in _Hannibal_, which in turn attract Raoul's attentions. Christine was meant to marry Raoul; it's her destiny."

Okay, that answered that question. Christine, plus music lessons, equaled her living happily with her Prince Charming. If I messed that up, I was going to be dead meat.

"Just one piece of advice for you, Amelia," Destiny said as fog began to swirl around us, signaling the approach of my wakefulness. A gold-silver eye winked at me. "Don't try and make Erik do anything against his nature, at least the nature he has at that moment."

I blinked at her. "Huh?"

Those metallic eyes glittered in amusement. "Basically, if he is more inclined to strangle someone than help them, you can't force him to go against that part of his nature. Any changes you try to make upon him must be subtle and gradual, not sudden or forced upon him, or he won't learn anything."

Something in my mind clicked as she began to fade away. "So it's like teaching a young child right from wrong, and helping them move on from there."

Destiny didn't reply verbally, but the smirk and wink she threw at me was enough of an answer.

"Great," I muttered as my eyes began to slowly flutter open.

"Lisette, it's time to wake up!" Meg called through my closed door as the sounds of clanking pans reaching my ears. "Mama says that breakfast is going to need your help!"

Sighing, I pulled myself out of bed. Grumbling, I ran to get dressed, knowing that life was going to start getting complicated, and soon.

* * *

AN: The plot begins to thicken! (chuckles evilly) I hope everyone enjoyed the chapter and will review. Thanks!


	7. Evolving Friendships

Disclaimer: I own nothing related to _**Phantom of the Opera**_. Only original characters and concepts are mine.

AN: Yes, finally, things are going to start moving. There's going to be more Erik and Lisette/Amelia, which should make for some good reading for everyone (wink). Have fun, and please review! Thanks!

**Chapter 7: Evolving Friendships****:**

For an entire week, I did nothing but make plans concerning Erik's personality and how I was going to change it. Sadly, most of those ideas were impossible or incredibly stupid, and usually involved my imagination running wild with how things could go wrong. But on the bright side, it helped make for some good entertainment during my spare time.

Not that I slacked in doing my usual work. I still helped Mama make breakfast in the morning, took Meg and Christine to rehearsals and back again, and helped prepare dinner, so my routine was undisturbed. But in between those things, I thought about how to help the Phantom with his social and emotional issues.

In fact, I'd been so wrapped up in thinking about Erik and his problems that I had somehow managed to forget my own birthday.

* * *

Birthdays in the Opera House were either waved aside and forgotten, or celebrated with much enthusiasm. It usually depended on the person, their friends, and their situation in life, but mostly, the workers at the Populaire celebrated with a lot of wine, food, and raunchy jokes all around.

Mama was above that sort of thing. She wanted to be more "refined" than the others, and so, for each birthday in the family, she prepared a cake and a special supper for all of us to share that evening. The meals weren't very fancy, usually consisting of a simple beef roast or seafood stew that Mama put on the fire during her lunch, but they were always made with love, and were always delicious. Meg, Christine and I considered ourselves lucky that we had a loving mother to look out for us.

This birthday was no different than the others. After a hard day of dance rehearsals and preparing for the upcoming production of _The Magic Flute_, the four of us went home to a hot meal of delicious beef roast and clams, which Mama had bought for the occasion. A marvelous chocolate cake was served an hour later, and with the cake came the best part: presents!

Gifts were rare in the Giry home, and when we received them, we were always grateful. Mama gave me a book by Jane Austen, while Meg and Christine had pitched together to buy me a length of ribbon and lace to put on a dress I would be making for the Masquerade at the end of the year.

* * *

Yes, I'm talking about _the_ Masquerade Ball, like the one in the story. It was an annual event that happened on the last day of the year and lasted well into dawn on New Year's Day.

Typically, only the rich, famous, and aristocratic were invited, but Monsieur Lefevre was a kind man, and permitted a few of the well-behaved Opera employees to attend. Being able to go was a great honor, and since Mama was the ballet mistress, she got an invitation every year. The only reason she refused to go was because she wanted Meg, Christine and I to attend as well, but since we were too young, she spent that night at home with us.

Now that I was seventeen, Mama had given in and decided that I should attend the Ball, if only to dress up and have fun. The dancers were all jealous, of course, but that was only because they thought I would be trying my best to ensnare a wealthy man for a husband. However, Mama and I had no intention of finding me a husband at the event, since most of the men attending were engaged or married already. Still, I was very eager to go, if only for the sake of dressing up.

* * *

The rest of my birthday night was full of games and the reading aloud of stories from an old fairy tale book that Papa had given me before he died. Although we were too old for such things, it was soothing to hear our mother's voice before we went off to bed.

But after I had climbed under the covers, the oddest thing happened.

It was late, and since it was my birthday, I had been allowed to stay up an extra hour so I could read my new book. When the outer rooms had gone quiet and their candles put out, I heard a light knock on my door. Believing it to be Christine or Meg coming to plead for a kiss goodnight, I called for them to enter.

Imagine my surprise at seeing my mother standing there instead. In her hands was a large parcel wrapped in brown burlap. She clutched it as though it were a dangerous secret, which, in this Opera House, might be the case. The expression on her usually composed face was enough to alarm me.

Quickly setting aside my book, I sat up in bed. "Mama? What's wrong? What is that?" I asked, looking at the parcel.

She sighed, quickly closing the door behind her before setting the package down on the bed. "It is something that was left with me a few days ago." She held up a hand to halt my questions. "No, do not ask who left it. They wish to remain a mystery, at least until they decide to reveal themselves to you. Go on and open it. I haven't looked inside to see what it is."

My hands reached out and began to pull the burlap away from the object. We both gasped at the sight; it was a bolt of shining green satin, clearly meant to be crafted into an elegant gown. An envelope fell out of the cloth, my name scrawled on the front and a wax rose sealing it on the back. Curious, I snatched up the note before my mother could, and ripped it open.

_Dearest Lisette, Happy Birthday. Be sure to share this with your mother. Yours, O.G._

Blinking at the short message, I heard Mama searching through the rough sack. I looked up just in time to see her produce another bolt of cloth, this one of black silk with faint gold flowers pattered through it. It was a glorious length of material.

"Mama, may I use this to make my costume for the Masquerade?" I pleaded. "I could be a fairy or a dryad, like in my old story books, and you can use the black silk for your outfit."

She looked doubtful, and probably with good reason, but I wanted to keep the material so badly. I know, it's always a stupid idea to accept gifts from the Phantom, and it was selfish, but the satin was beautiful, so can you blame me? It was going to be my first Masquerade (past and present lives together), and for the first time since I'd been dropped into this time period, I had the chance to make a fantastic gown that would be the envy of the ballerinas _and_ chorus girls. Call me shallow and spiteful, but I very much wanted to see their faces turn as green as the satin.

Mama was reluctant, but she knew there was no other way to get what was needed for an appropriate costume for the Ball. The most we had hoped for was to buy bits and pieces of decent material from the costume mistresses and pray that it would look good enough for the Ball. But even if I pitched in a good deal of my savings, I could never afford to get material of this quality, nor at such quantity. If I wanted to make a good impression and make her proud, we would have to keep these to make dresses out of.

"Very well," she acquiesced. "We will start working on your gown within the week. Now, go to sleep. You need your rest."

Happy that I'd gotten my way, I slept very well that night.

* * *

Lying in bed, Antoinette bit her bottom lip. Worry, fear, and anger swarmed through her, and she didn't like it.

'_Why would Erik send Lissie a gift such as that_?' she wondered.

It made no sense! He could not have designs on her, so perhaps he was merely being kind after her attack in the halls? It was possible that he simply wanted her to feel better, and this was his way of cheering her up.

Still, she didn't like it. From now on, she would have to keep an eye on Lisette to make sure that was all that was happening.

Antoinette scowled into the darkness, somehow knowing she had to protect her eldest child with everything she had.

* * *

As my mother promised, we started sewing my costume that very weekend. The Ball wouldn't place for at least six months, but considering how busy we always were, it was best to start early on a big project. That way, if the gown didn't fit or needed to be altered in some way, I would have ample time to do it.

But during my quiet moments, I couldn't help but wonder if I should make another kind gesture towards the Phantom. It would be harder to do so, because Mama was now keeping an unusually close eye on me. That was not a good sign, and would mean I would have to start sneaking around in order to try and do what Destiny had ordered. Still, it was possible; I just had to find a way to do it.

Now the main problem: what could I give him this time around? Money was too impersonal, not to mention that he already had tons of it from the extortion scheme he had going concerning the Opera manager. Chocolates were silly, and jewelry of any kind was too expensive.

Finally, a few weeks later, I inadvertently found what I was searching for. I had gotten the idea to search for a passable gift in what I called The Forgotten Prop Room. This was a room where mounds of props from past performances were sent, but never taken back up again for another production. Everything had a thick layer of dust, but once I attacked it with a damp rag or feather duster, I was able to find some rather remarkable things.

I managed to find Erik's gift on the second table I searched. It was a simple, but pretty box of dark wood about a foot long and six inches wide. It was four or five inches tall, and would come in handy for storing valuables. After all, everyone needed a box to store stuff in.

The top was engraved with a large intertwining Celtic design painted in gold, and seemed to be of good quality. I thumped it on the table a few times, and smiled when it didn't fall apart. Sturdy, simple, but still attractive and in great shape –it was perfect.

Now came the hard part: getting the box to the right hands.

That wouldn't be easy. Ever since my birthday, Madame Giry had been watching me like a hawk, though I didn't know why. Well, okay, I could guess _why_, but how was I to know that the Phantom would send me a gift for my birthday? It was a kind gesture, and a step in the direction that Destiny wanted him to take, but it was starting to make life difficult for me. Plus, I had a strange feeling that, if I couldn't get this present to Erik, things would start taking a turn for the worst.

A dream that night confirmed it. Destiny wasn't in it, but the vision I got was probably from her. In this dream, I saw Erik growing more depressed at not hearing from me, and as he grew sadder, he also got angrier, turning into the murdering madman everyone would come to associate with the title Phantom of the Opera.

I woke in a cold sweat, and knew that, somehow, I had to get my present to Box 5. It wasn't much of a 'thank-you,' but it came from the heart, which was all that mattered. The only problem was getting there.

Thankfully, an opportunity presented itself about a month after my birthday. We had just finished an opening night production, and with everyone busy at the "after parties," there was no one available to run an errand for Monsieur Lefevre. He wanted someone to inspect the most expensive Boxes and see how much cleaning they would need in the morning.

One would think that _all_ the seats in the house would get a nice tidying up after each performance, but this wasn't the case. The cleaning women tended to be old, cranky, and lazy, so they gave the _appearance_ of working hard when they really weren't. They tidied up the regular seats well enough, but only because they could be seen whenever Monsieur Lefevre walked into the auditorium. Box seats were harder to see from ground level, and so the cleaning women didn't work too hard putting them to rights until the day before a performance opened.

Normally, one of the small messenger boys could do this task, but since there were parties going on backstage (as well as in the grand entrance of the Opera House), the boys were needed to fetch food, drinks, and (secretly) drugs for the workers. With them busy running around like idiots, there was no one left to check the box seats.

As can be expected, Monsieur Lefevre decided to put the task on one of the more reliable Opera folk, meaning me. Mama wasn't thrilled at the idea, but since all of the other workers were going to be at the parties, it was doubtful that I would come to harm. With the Opera's manager providing free liquor and food, no one was going to be wandering away from the parties before dawn. Those that did leave would be either in their beds or someone else's; the rest of the Populaire would be completely void of employees until after noon the next day.

With Mama busy lecturing the dancers, and my sisters helping the costume mistresses organize the costumes for tomorrow night, I was able to race to my room to retrieve the wooden box with little trouble. No one stopped me to ask what I was doing, or where I was going, so it all went very smoothly. I was able to leave my gift in Box 5, and be home in time to catch a good night's sleep.

* * *

Observing Lisette from the shadows, Erik saw her leave the object in Box 5 before returning to her home. Once he was alone, Erik quietly slipped out of his hiding spot to see what Lissie had left him this time.

To his delight, it was a wooden box, one that was perfect for keeping his more precious tools safe from rodents. The design was one he recognized from a past production, and it was somewhat worn, but he was genuinely touched by the gesture, and appreciated of such a gift.

However, he was now once again at that awkward point he had been in when Lissie had left him the handkerchiefs. Should he reply with another gift, or send a note? Perhaps a monetary present would be appropriate?

Erik quickly rejected the latter idea, if only because he knew Antoinette would never allow her daughter to accept money from him. Anne would see it as a bribe, or something equally inappropriate, and going against propriety was something she would never let her children do.

Clothing would also not be a good idea. First, he hated repeating himself, as he had already sent two bolts of fine material to Anne and Lissie. True, he had stolen them from the costume rooms, but he'd first made sure they would not be missed, so that was alright.

'_It truly is amazing how much cloth goes to waste in the Populaire_,' Erik thought with a smirk. That was also how he had managed to procure the cloth for his own clothing, so he couldn't complain.

But that still left him with a dilemma on his hands. What in the world did a man give a woman who was not his friend, or close to him in any way? Chocolates, flowers, and other ridiculous things were for lovers, not vague acquaintances who had met but once.

'_Perhaps I should take something from the long-forgotten store rooms_?' he wondered. Or perhaps there was something _he_ had created back in the caverns that could suit his purpose?

That was an idea. There were bound to be a dozen things that would make a suitable gift, and would not be missed.

Smiling, Erik headed down through the tunnels, eager to begin his search.

* * *

Of course, I did not receive a "good night's sleep" after leaving my gift in Box 5. Destiny visited me, but only for a little while. It was basically a few words of praise, and a thumbs-up, but that would be enough to make me slightly grumpy the next day. I _never_ got a decent rest whenever Destiny visited me. Fortunately, I would be able to sleep in an extra hour or two, so I probably wouldn't be _that_ cranky when I went to rehearsals with Mama.

The next morning greeted me with a very pleasant surprise, when I woke to find a carefully wrapped bundle on a table near my bed. Since no one in my family entered my room without knocking, and that Mama probably wouldn't risk giving me another gift from our favorite Opera Ghost, I figured that it had to be the Phantom's work. But how did he get into my room?

The answer hit me like a ton of bricks: There was a secret passageway leading into my bedroom!

At first, I didn't know how to handle this. I was kind of pissed off that he'd snuck into my room without permission, not to mention kind of freaked out at the thought that he might be spying on me when I least expected it. I knew that "Peeping Tom" was probably on the Phantom's list of skills, but I was seriously hoping that he wasn't practicing it on _me_.

Conflicted, I stared at the bundle on the table. Like the bolts of cloth he'd left, this was also wrapped in burlap, though it was far smaller. My fingers itched to unwrap it and see what was inside, but my head reminded me of how the package had gotten there in the first place. At last, my fingers and curiosity won out, and I snatched the bundle off the table.

Much to my disappointment, it was a simple wooden box, about the size and height of my hand, and made of polished mahogany. There were no designs of any kind decorating it, though there was a small gold latch in the shape of a leaf on the front. Gently lifting it up, the latch came undone and the lid popped open half an inch. Using extreme caution, I slowly opened the lid.

Inside, the box was lined in soft blue velvet, and on the velvet was a silver chain attached to a small silver pocket watch. It wasn't small or delicate, like a woman's watch would be, but it wasn't a huge heavy piece of metal, either. There were a few vines and leaves carved into the silver, as well as a few flowers (which I could tell were recently added), so it wasn't completely plain either. It was easily a watch that could be used every day, which would come in handy.

Smiling, I began to get dressed. Explaining the watch to my mother wouldn't be easy, but I had a feeling Mama would let me keep it, if only to get me to stop asking her the time.

* * *

As Lisette left the Giry apartments that morning, Erik preened at the sight of the silver chain dangling from her pockets. She was using his gift!

Yes, it was a practical gift, but it wasn't as conspicuous as a necklace or bracelet; people tended to notice if a woman received expensive, frivolous trinkets such as those, and they usually began asking all sorts of odd questions.

A watch was something all respectable women, such as Madame Giry, wore without question, and it was useful as well. And since Erik had been working to finish that particular watch for quite sometime, it was a perfect solution to his problem.

While watching Lisette toy with both the silver chain and the watch itself, Erik realized a sense of accomplishment and happiness. This watch was something he was proud of, and after so much work and concentration, he'd been able to finish it and give it to someone who enjoyed it.

Grinning at the swell of joy inside him, Erik descended towards his home, humming under his breath.

* * *

AN: Oooh, things are starting to get interesting now! More fun coming up, I promise. Please be kind and review! Thanks!


	8. A Phantom's Nurse

Disclaimer: I don't own anything _**Phantom of the Opera**_ (though I wish I did). Only original characters belong to me.

AN: Someone asked me about what happened to Fate in this story, since she hasn't been seen since the beginning. The explanation is here in this chapter, but if anyone has more questions about it, please let me know in a review. Thanks!

**Chapter 8: A Phantom's Nurse****:**

Keeping time with my walking stick, I watched the ballerinas float by me. Today, their efforts were being pushed to the extreme, because in a few days was the opening night for a new performance. Of course, Mama was there to make sure no one was slacking in their work, so everything was pretty much going as scheduled.

Beneath the harsh rap of my cane on the floor, I could hear the lighter sound of something jingling. Without looking, I knew it was the chain of my pocket watch, as well as the charm bracelet around my wrist. The sounds they made always cheered me up, because they were a sign that my 'task' here was progressing nicely.

If I stopped to think about it, the odd, distant relationship the Phantom and I maintained was both interesting and fun. For the most part, we rarely saw one another, much less spoke to each other, but there seemed to be a vague friendship that had formed between us.

For two years we've carried on our 'gift exchange,' but to a far less-expensive degree.

About a week after I'd received the watch, the Phantom slipped a note into my bedroom, kindly suggesting that we only exchange gifts during special events, namely birthdays, Christmas, and, oddly enough, New Year's. Personally, I think the New Year's thing was mainly so we would start a new year on a positive note, but that could have just been me.

I, however, decided to break the 'rules' that the Phantom put in place when it came to this odd little tradition of ours.

At least once a month, I would leave a small box of pastries or cookies in Box 5, along with a note asking him to enjoy the treats. Sometimes, I would explore the storage rooms for forgotten props or art supplies and leave them in Box 5. Knowing that the Phantom was an artist, I thought he'd enjoy having new things to work with.

And of course, since _I_ started breaking the 'rules of exchange,' the Phantom quickly followed suit. Not long after I began leaving things for him, I began finding small beads or trinkets sitting on my bedside table when I woke in the morning. When I'd collected a fair number of them, I began adding the trinkets to the chain of my watch, and the beads to a small charm bracelet I started just for that purpose. Presently, the bracelet and chain were becoming too crowded and heavy to add any more to them. I'd have to start another one soon.

"Not fast enough!" Mama snapped as the dance came to a close. "Five minutes rest, then we begin again!"

The girls groaned and ran to fetch a drink of water or to use the privy before Mama changed her mind. In the far corner sat a satchel with bread, smoked meat, and cheese, which would be serving as Mama's dinner. I considered myself lucky that I would not have to stay late tonight, especially since tomorrow was what I had dubbed the Phantom's birthday.

'_Well, considering he probably doesn't know his real one, the least I could do was give him a new birthday_,' I mused as Mama gave me a nod, excusing me for the day.

Tomorrow would mark the two-year anniversary of my attack in the Opera hallways, and since it was also when Erik began to change for the better, I had declared to be his birthday, making it twice as memorable. Of course, I had left a note, asking if it was alright for it to be so, and he'd agreed.

So, naturally, I had to get home and wrap the present I had found for him. This year, it was a beautiful length of soft black wool, leftover from when one of the costume mistresses had created a coat for her young grandson. There hadn't been much left after she'd finished, but it was just enough to stitch together to make a scarf for a man. I'd stitched up the edges so they wouldn't unravel, and tonight, I would wrap it up nicely in grey paper, so I could leave it in Box 5 tomorrow morning, before I went to rehearsals.

Beaming widely, I headed home, knowing that Destiny would be proud of me. It was odd that I had not seen her sister, Fate, in all the time I'd been here, but that had been explained to me only recently.

Apparently, Fate had her own 'special person' to look after, and couldn't spare any time for me and my mission with the Phantom, so I was exclusively in Destiny's hands. Personally, I didn't mind, since the idea of _two_ super-powerful beings watching over my shoulder was rather unnerving –one was more than enough to deal with!

'_And speaking of being watched, I'd better finish Erik's gift, before I fall asleep or forget_,' I chided myself. At least if I finished wrapping it tonight, I could leave it for him in the morning.

Sigh. My work here was _never_ done!

* * *

As dreams of wrapping paper and ribbons floated through my head, I felt someone shaking my shoulder, waking me from a sound sleep. I opened my eyes and spotted Mama sitting beside me, a worried look on her face as she waited for me to rub the sleep from my eyes.

"Mama, what's wrong?" I asked, fearing that something had happened. "Is it Meg? Or Christine? Has she caught another cold?" Illnesses did _not_ go over well with my sisters, both of whom were rather delicate.

Mother shook her head. "No, my darling, your sisters are fine. It is someone else who needs help, and you are the only one I can trust with keeping this secret."

Okay, _now_ I was worried. "Mama, I don't like it when you say things like that. What is wrong?"

She sighed. "The Opera Ghost is very ill. He needs help, and I cannot take care of him alone."

No need to tell me twice. Even though I didn't know him very well, I couldn't let the Ghost suffer like that. Sickness in the 19th century was brutal, and I was seriously glad that I hadn't gotten a single cold or a bad case of the flu while I was here. That was probably Destiny's way of protecting me, since if I died before my work was done, she'd have to start all over again with a new 'chosen one.' Still, it was nice to know she cared at least that much about me.

I was dressed in minutes, and quiet as possible, we slipped out into the dark corridors of the Opera House. Late as it was, there were few people about, but Mama was still inclined to avoid them for fear of questions. We walked in silence for a few moments, me trailing behind her as she quickly ducked down an unlit hallway and reached a dead end. Without speaking, she pushed on a place along the wall, and I watched in surprise as it gave way to an eerie stone cavern where a single torch burned, providing much needed light.

Still keeping silent, I followed along behind my mother, my eyes darting side-to-side as we walked. A few rats scurried away as we neared, and more than a few spider webs dangled from the walls and ceiling. It was nasty, to say the least, but at least the floor was fairly clean, speaking loudly of how often the Phantom used these passages.

Down we went, through dark tunnels made of stone that chilled the air, keeping out the light and warmth of the day. It might be pleasant during the hot days of summer, but right now, it sent eerie shivers down my back. I didn't want to think about spending most of my life down here, like the Phantom did, the poor man.

We eventually reached a dead end, and once more, Mama pushed part of the wall to activate a hidden doorway. This one led into a well-lit cave, an underground hallway that led to the most fantastic room I had ever seen.

At first, all I could see were the candelabras, all painted in gold and holding dozens of candles. Most were unlit, but those that were cast just enough light to see the lake on the other side of the elegant wall the candelabras created.

To my right was the legendary organ, no doubt where the Phantom would one day start working on his masterpiece, _Don Juan Triumphant_. Scattered around it were tables covered in projects in various stages of completion, though they all looked impressive even in the roughest form.

"This way, Lissie," Mama softly called from a room beyond where the organ stood.

I followed the sound of her voice and entered a darkened doorway large enough to push a cart through. Before me was an immense bed covered in black sheets, and in the faint light of a handful of candles, I could see that on the bed was the infamous Phantom of the Opera himself.

Now, though, instead of being tall, dark and intimidating, he lay on the sheets, his face as pale as the white shirt he wore, and both he and it was covered in sweat. Even more surprising was that he was also without his mask. Not a pretty sight, but not that bad, either. Webber had definitely gotten it right when it came to the Phantom's face.

As I moved up beside my mother, I whispered, "Mama, how did you know he was ill? Surely you did not come down here to check on him!"

She shook her head and paused before the foot of the bed. "Amazingly enough, he came to me last night after I'd gone to bed, saying he did not feel well, and asked for my help. I gave him a syrup and told him to come see me again today during my luncheon. When he did not return, I knew something had to be wrong."

Yes, something was very wrong. His face was damp with sweat, a clear sign he was feverish, and since I knew that such illnesses could easily kill, constant care was going to be needed in order for the fever to break. No doubt this was why Mama wanted me here with her.

"Lisette, I will help you throughout tonight, and instruct you on how to care for him," she whispered for my ears alone. "Unfortunately, I cannot spend daylight hours here with him. You know why."

I did. If Mama suddenly vanished with little or no warning, people would become suspicious and start asking questions. However, if _I_ were to disappear, and Mama gave a believable excuse, they wouldn't think too much about it.

"What will our story be?" I whispered back to her.

It was a simple enough tale: apparently I would be out "visiting" a sick relative of Mama's who lived outside of Paris. It seemed that she had a few cousins who lived in the countryside, but since they were very proper people, they wanted nothing to do with her because she lived and worked in the Opera House.

"They are all on my father's side, and did not approve when Father sent me here to learn ballet," Mama explained. "I wanted very badly to become a ballerina, and since dancing is one of the few jobs that pays women for their labors, I chose to remain here after my parents died. You know the rest of the story."

Now we would use these relatives as an alibi for me as I cared for the Phantom. Mama said that we were finally putting them to good use, which I found amusing.

Once we had the story straightened out between us, my mother went to start a pot of broth and some hot tea. Meanwhile, I had been ordered to sit with the Ghost and make sure his fever stayed down. She gave me a porcelain bowl, as well as pitcher of cold water, and sent me to stay by his side.

"Dampen his forehead, but not overly so," she said firmly. "Keep the pitcher full, so that if he asks for water, you will not have to go far. And be sure that you change the water every few hours, so that it does not get stale."

Soon, the soup was boiling on the stove, which contained a low fire so that it wouldn't burn. There would be more than enough for my patient, but after that was gone, I would have to do the cooking myself –after all, there was no way Mama would be able to get away to come down here and cook for us. That wouldn't be a problem; I was perfectly able to cook for my family of four, so meals for two wouldn't be a problem.

"You will also have to give him this medicine for at least a week," she said, handing me a large bottle. "It is the syrup I gave him, and it appears he only took one spoonful before he fell so ill. Make sure he gets a spoonful of it every few hours, or with his meals, whichever comes first. It will help a great deal."

Also, I was not allowed to leave until I was certain that the Ghost could fend for himself once more. If I left too soon, he would relapse, and possibly end up worse than he was now, which would be a very bad thing; Destiny would _not_ be happy if I ended up accidentally killing the Phantom of the Opera when I should be saving him!

Once she was sure I understood my instructions, my mother gently kissed my cheek, wished me well, and left me alone in the dark cave that served as the Phantom's home.

* * *

My first thought at being in the infamous lair of the Phantom was how _cool_ it was to be down here. There was lots to look at and investigate, not to mention that I was one of the few who had come down here and survived the trip, since Mama had led me right around the legendary traps the Ghost must have set.

Not long afterwards, the novelty wore off, and I was bored out of my mind. Not that anyone could blame me; all I was doing was hovering over a feverish and fitfully-resting Opera Ghost, making sure he didn't get sicker. Patting his forehead with cold water wasn't exactly exciting or stimulating, so I decided to be naughty and go exploring the first chance I got, which was when he fell into a period of actual rest.

That opportune moment occurred two hours after I'd been left alone with my patient. The Ghost sank into a relatively peaceful sleep, so I took a silver candlestick, put a fresh, newly lit candle into it, and went to do a tiny bit of exploring.

Besides all of the wonderful projects he seemed to be working on, I found a private work room filled with even more art pieces in various stages of completion. There was also a fantastic library filled with hundreds of texts, and a private study with a magnificent wood desk that was a piece of art, in and of itself. I also found the infamous bedroom from the film, including the phoenix-shaped bed where the Phantom laid Christine down when he brought her to his lair. I had to hold back a fan-girl giggle when I saw that.

Finished with my brief look around, I returned to the library and quickly scanned the shelves for something to read. It didn't take me long to figure out his shelving system, and I was able to pick out a few books I'd always wanted to read, but had difficulty buying. With finances so tight at home, buying books was a luxury I couldn't afford in this lifetime, so I might as well take advantage of the Ghost's vast collection.

Armed with a bit of entertainment, I returned to my patient's room, and discovered that he had kicked the sheets off in his sleep. His face was still beaded with sweat, so he had probably felt hot and tried getting rid of the covers to be more comfortable.

Returning to his side, I put the books on a desk nearby and sat in a chair Mama had provided before leaving. In a minute, I was wiping his brow, and not long after, his eyes opened.

"Lisette?" he whispered, his voice so soft I could barely hear it.

I smiled and patted his face with the damp cloth. "Yes, it's me. Since you're awake and talking, is there anything you need? Food, water, anything at all?"

For a moment, he stared at me as though he'd never seen me before. "I am dreaming," he muttered as his eyes fell shut. "You are not really here."

His eyes flew open once more as I snorted. "I am here, Monsieur," I replied while pouring a glass of water for him. "And right now, you need to drink some water and take your medicine."

He was so surprised that he didn't fight me when I sat him up a bit, poured the syrup down his throat, and made him drink a glass of water afterwards. When he was finished, I helped him lay back down and tucked him into bed.

"Now, go back to sleep, Monsieur Opera Ghost," I ordered as I finished with the sheets. "When you wake, I'll give you some soup, another spoonful of medicine, and some tea. Then you'll be off to sleep, and we'll start all over again."

"And when will you rest?" he asked as he began to drowse off.

"I will do it when I can," I replied. "Back to sleep with you, sir."

"You may call me Erik," he whispered, falling asleep as the last word left his lips.

Smiling, I sat back in my chair and picked up a book.

* * *

Sometime in between feeding Erik, dosing him with medicine, and force-feeding him liquids, I nodded off in the chair by his bed. Fortunately, the chair had a very high back and was comfortably cushioned, which is probably why Mama had chosen it for me –well, that and the fact that it was conveniently in the room, so she didn't have to move it far.

What awoke me was the sound of someone trying to get up, and not having much success. I woke at once and saw Erik attempting to struggle his way out of the knot he'd made of the sheets. Biting back laughter, I stretched and reached to help him. He flinched and tried to slap my hands away, but I persisted, glaring down at him as I put my hands around one of his arms.

"Don't be foolish," I snapped. "If you must get up, let me help you. You're weak from sickness and fever; the last thing you need is to get worse!"

Erik sniffed, but let me help him stand up. "You are far too much like your mother."

"I'll take that as a compliment. So, where do you need to go?"

He motioned to a door in the far corner. "The privy, if you please. All of that liquid you've poured into me must go _some_where."

Snickering, I draped his arm over my shoulder. "Alright, but remember, don't try to move too quickly."

It took a while, but we eventually made it there and back again. When I'd gotten Erik tucked into bed, I fetched another bowl of soup. He took one look at me and scowled at the sight of the bowl.

"I refuse to eat that," he said. "It's nothing but broth! I want something more substantial than flavored water to eat!"

Rolling my eyes, I sat on the bed, the bowl in my lap and a spoon in my hand. "If you don't eat, you won't be able to fight whatever illness you have. If you're better tomorrow, I'll make you a thicker soup, with meat and vegetables in it, alright? Now, are you going to eat this, or should I pour it down your throat?"

For a moment, he stared at me in surprise, but obediently opened his mouth so that I could feed him. When he finished, I tucked him back into bed and put a cool wet cloth on his forehead. In minutes, he was asleep.

Shaking my head, I sat back in my chair and pulled out a book, knowing that it was going to be a very long stay.

* * *

AN: For some reason, being a nurse to the Phantom doesn't seem like it'd be that bad of a job. Hmm.

Anyway, thanks for reading, and please review! Thanks!


	9. Bedside Manners

Disclaimer: I don't own anything _**Phantom of the Opera**_ (though I wish I did). Only original characters belong to me.

AN: More fun with poor, sick Erik. Enjoy the chapter, and please review! Thanks!

**Chapter 9: Bedside Manners****:**

Two days passed, and finally, Erik's fever broke. However, he was still weak, so I still had to hover over him like a mother hen. I fed him, helped him to the bathroom (which, thankfully, had plumbing), and saw to keeping his fever down.

And as can be expected, he didn't appreciate being fussed over. I'd thought he'd at least be grateful, since no one else had ever tried to take care of him, but all Erik did was scowl at me and try to get up before he was ready. I was much gratified whenever he tried to get out of bed and ended up falling flat on his face, cursing as I helped him back into bed.

"I am not an invalid!" he would snap, trying to push me away as I tucked him back in. "I'm perfectly capable of moving around on my own two feet!"

I would simply slap his hands away and threaten to feed him an even more horrible medicine if he didn't behave. That worked, but only for a while.

On the third day, I managed to get him to calm down by promising to bring him something to read. He grumbled, but was actually obedient about staying in bed. I brought him the book he'd requested, and settled down to read in the chair next to the bed.

"I don't suppose you could make something more substantial for my meals," he grumbled. "I'm famished, and the soup you have been feeding me is not very filling."

The broth that Mama had made had run out last night, so tonight I would have to prepare the evening meal. I'd been cooking for myself while Erik had been resting, but it had basically been toasted cheese sandwiches and water, a quick bite to eat in case he woke up while I was gone. Now that he was recovering, I could cook something more substantial for the both of us.

"Alright," I agreed, surprising him. "If I start cooking a stew right now, the meat and vegetables will be soft by supper. Meanwhile, you'll have to content yourself with teas, water, and some very thin porridge for breakfast and lunch."

He opened his mouth to protest, but stopped when I glared at him. "Why should you care if I'm well or not?" he snapped. "I'm a monster, a freak with half a face! Why do you spend day and night caring for a demon's spawn when no one would care if I died?"

Oh, so that was how it's going to be, huh? Well, I'd known it was coming, so I might as well deal with it.

Putting my hands on my hips, I stood up and glared at him. "You are _not_ a monster, and even though your face isn't perfect, you are _not_ a freak. I don't care what you look like; you are my friend, and I _do_ care whether you live or die, because all life is precious. And whether you believe it or not, there are people out there who have faces, minds and bodies more twisted than yours, so don't try and think that you're the worst person in the world."

I crossed my arms. "Now are you going to stop behaving like a tantrum-throwing child so that I can feed you?"

He sat there, gaping at me for several minutes before closing his mouth and nodding. Satisfied that he wouldn't make things too difficult from now on, I went to the kitchen and began cooking.

With the stew cooking slowly on the stove, I began on the porridge, which was much simpler to make. As I stirred the grains in the shallow pot, then poured in water and some fruit preserves I found in the cupboards, I began wondering if Destiny would visit me tonight as I slept.

'_I shouldn't have lectured him that way_,' I chided myself. '_She said that I shouldn't force him to act against his nature, and I pushed him that way by telling him to shut up and be good_.'

Oh, man, Destiny was going to have my head, I could feel it. Oh, well, first things first: feed Erik and make sure he got some sleep.

For a while, it appeared that he was going to fight me on eating the porridge, but after all the broth he'd been forced to drink down, the dietary change was enough to keep him cooperative. When he'd finished, Erik immediately went to sleep, leaving me free for at least a few hours.

Too bad I couldn't do anything relaxing. In the short time I'd been here in the Phantom's home, I'd noticed that the entire place was a mess. The only words that could describe it was "bachelor pad," with a side of "messy artist" on the side.

Now, I knew that there were some men who were impeccably organized and tidy, but Erik wasn't one of them. Clothing was strewn everywhere: on chairs, tables, even on points coming out of the cave walls. He had three wardrobes to hang stuff in, but either they were full, or he never got around to putting his things away. There were also large piles of art supplies, both new and used, scattered everywhere. The only clean places in the entire underground house were the kitchen and the library, where fire could be a serious problem.

So, with nothing else better to do, I decided to clean house. I picked up all the clothing I could find, then sorted them into piles. There was no way I was going to wash his clothes, but I could at least make it easier for him. Plus, the piles would be a subtle hint on what needed to be done with them.

I tidied up the art supplies as well, though I knew better than to move them in any significant way. He'd probably strangle me if I did, but the neat piles I put them in were better than the jumbled mess they were before…I hope.

Dusting came next, and by the time I was done, I had to feed Erik another helping of porridge, help him to the privy, and settle him back into bed. At least this time he didn't complain, which was a blessing.

After he'd fallen asleep again, I quietly slipped out, eager to take a closer look at the different projects Erik was working on.

It was insane at how many different abilities this man had. Rough drawings and paintings were everywhere, and the paintings that he'd actually started looked as though they were barely half-finished. The same could be said about busts and sculptures, with blocks and pieces of wood and stone lying around on tables, desks, even a few chairs. The only things that appeared anywhere near finished were the jewelry pieces.

It was odd, thinking about the Phantom making jewelry, of all things. However, there weren't very many pieces, so it was possible he'd only recently discovered his ability in the craft. And yet, some of the things I found looked rather old, so I figured that he'd started and stopped making it long ago, and had recently begun it again.

'_Well, I do it with books, sometimes, so I guess this might be the same thing_.' I shrugged it aside. What Erik did with his skills was his own business.

The thing that got me the most was what I discovered in the back room, where Erik stored most of his art supplies. At first glance, the entire space was filled with paints, charcoal sticks and chalk in various colors, as well as brushes, easels, and a hundred other tools, all neatly arranged on shelves along the wall. Beyond the shelves was where I found a marvelous treasure trove, stacked neatly in a handmade rack at the back of the room.

At first, I thought it merely held more supplies, but when I got closer, I couldn't help but gasp. The odd-looking rack had bolts and bolts of the most beautiful cloths I'd ever seen. Silk, satin, velvet, cotton, and muslin linens stood there, in all sorts of colors. It was easy to see where my bolt of greet satin had come from.

'_And I'll bet I can guess where most of these came from_,' I thought with a smirk.

The costume mistresses had been complaining for years that materials have gone missing from their supply closets, but since it was kept under lock and key, they could give no explanation as to how it happened. Of course, everyone whispered that it was the Ghost's doing, no doubt so he could cause trouble. No one ever wondered what a Ghost could possibly want with all that material; they simply knew it was him.

Now I knew what it was all for: his wardrobe. I'd picked up his clothes, shook them out, and even folded a few of them, so I knew what they were all made of. Since there was no way he'd pay for such fine things, I knew he had to have stolen the cloth and made his own outfits. I had to give him points for that; even I couldn't put together a decent dress without Mama's help and several months to get it right.

'_He'd be a huge fashion designer in the 21__st__ Century_.' I couldn't help but laugh at the thought of Erik putting together a fashion show. That was just too funny.

Strange how, of all his talents, his sewing skills would impress me the most. I figured it was probably because most men didn't sew, and not many cared to learn. Plus, he had great taste, and if there's one thing I love, it's an outfit made right, and made from soft material. No matter what century I'm born in, clothes and books were my biggest loves.

Sighing, I exited the room and went to check on my wonderfully cheerful patient. He was still asleep, and I was getting bored.

My stomach rumbled. "Definitely time for a snack," I muttered, heading for the kitchen.

* * *

Dragging himself towards wakefulness, Erik slowly opened his eyes and winced. The candle burning beside the bed was a shock after such a deep rest.

It took him a moment to turn onto his side, and even then, he didn't stay that way long –his muscles hurt too much to stay that way, so he returned to lying on his back. Anything that didn't ache was very weak, and there was only one illness that could do that.

'_Influenza_,' he thought.

Oh, how he hated being ill with influenza! This was not his first bout with the illness, but this time, he hadn't been prepared. In previous years, sick Opera workers had been the warning he needed to prepare himself and his home in case he caught it. Sanitation was not high on the Opera's employees, so Erik took every precaution to keep himself clean and away from those that were ill.

This time, however, there had been no warning. One day, he was fine, and the next, Erik was ready to faint. He had begged Antoinette for help, and she had given him a syrup that had done nothing for him. He supposed that, when he did not return to her for more help, she had become worried and decided to check on him.

Currently, he didn't know whether to thank her or not.

For years, there had only been himself down in his underground home. Anne had stopped visiting when she'd begun to form her family, and so Erik had managed to become used to being relatively alone –at least until he'd begun spying on little Lisette Giry.

And now Lissie was here, brought to his house by Anne so that she could nurse him back to health. It had been a long time since a young woman had entered his home, and he knew that it was not in the best condition to receive a lady. Oh, he'd tried to keep it clean, but most of the time, it was simply easier to toss his clothes, shoes, and art supplies wherever he liked, rather than clean it up. Cleaning was not his specialty.

Pushing his eyes to open, Erik glanced around and winced. It was easy to see that Lissie had cleaned up his room; the clothes he had tossed aside were gone, and many things had been put into a neat pile or its proper place. He wasn't sure he liked it this way.

"Oh, good, you're awake!" quipped a cheerful voice. "I brought something for you to eat, and a hot cup of tea."

Lisette walked quietly to his side and put the tray she was carrying on a nearby table. "Are you able to sit up and feed yourself, or would you like help?"

Erik considered the matter. His body still ached, but he very much wanted to feed himself this time, and said so. Nodding, Lissie helped him sit up and placed the wooden tray across his lap.

"The stew isn't quite ready yet," she apologized. "The meat and vegetables still need a while to cook down to a proper softness, but the broth is good and thick. I thought you might like it, after drinking Mama's chicken soup."

He didn't think a stew's broth would be much better, but if it was more substantial than Anne's chicken broth, it was an improvement. Holding back a sigh, Erik dipped a spoon into the thick gravy-like broth and took a sip.

The rich, hearty flavor of it was so good, it nearly made him weep. After all that liquid broth that barely had any taste, this was heaven. He savored the hints of vegetables and meat that lingered on his tongue, and couldn't wait until the stew was finished so that he could eat actual food again.

"This is very good," he said, helping himself to another mouthful.

She puffed up in pride. "Mama has been teaching me to cook for years, but this is the first time I've been able to try it without her watching me like a hawk. I can cook dozens of things, but I suppose Mama just wasn't ready to let me do it on my own until now."

Erik was too busy eating to reply. It was wonderful to eat something other than chicken soup, and even though his present meal was basically a soup by definition, it was much more satisfying. He had even found a few bits of potatoes at the bottom of the bowl, all of them soft enough to mush in his mouth with his tongue. He'd never thought he'd be so happy to eat mushy potatoes.

When the bowl was empty, he attacked the tea, which had grown lukewarm. Still, it was soothing to drink, and the hints of mint and honey did wonders for his throat. Grudgingly, Erik had to admit that Lisette was a fairly good nurse for the sick.

Once both bowl and cup were empty, his tray was whisked away, and a moment later, Lisette returned. "Now that you're finished, do you need anything, or would you like to rest again?"

Erik considered his options. He was too weak to get out of bed, but was desperately in need of something to do, at least for a little while. And after the times she had lectured him about behaving or else she would force more horrible broth and medicine down his throat, Erik wasn't about to argue or complain about anything.

'_She's worse than Antoinette that way_.'

Not that that was a bad thing, mind you. He had to admire someone who could stand up to him, especially when it happened so rarely. Antoinette always said it wasn't good for him to always get his way, and now Erik was starting to believe her. Frustrating as it was having someone lecture and berate him, it felt nice having someone to talk to and put him in his place. No one had done that in many years, not since he had become the Opera Ghost. Best of all, she had called him her friend. Except for Antoinette, Erik had never had a true friend before.

Keeping that in mind, he politely asked, "May I have a book?"

Lisette eyed him carefully. "You don't look as though you're ready to sit up for very long. I could read to you, if you'd like, but either way, I'm predicting that you are going to be falling asleep very soon."

Damn it, the girl was right. He was tired, and knew that if he started reading, he'd only fall asleep before he got very far. Sighing, he lay back on his pillows. "Very well. I would like to be read to, if you please."

She seemed surprised at his politeness, but went to fetch a book anyway. Not that he could blame her; politeness wasn't something that came easily to a man who had shut away the world for so long.

When Lissie returned, she settled him back into the bed, pulling the covers up so that they reached his chin. "I know you don't like it," she said, as he glared at her, "but it's cold down here, and if you get chilled, you could relapse, which I'm sure is the last thing you want."

Again, he agreed with her, but Erik could not help but wonder how she knew about illnesses. He asked her, and her reply should not have surprised him.

"I grew up with two younger sisters, Monsieur," she said, a slight touch of humor in her voice indicating that she was teasing him. "Since Mama was busy with the ballerinas, I had to take care of Meg and Christine whenever they were ill. I made their meals, saw to their fevers, and read them stories. Believe me when I say I have had a _lot_ of practice."

"But you risk becoming ill yourself," Erik pointed out, his voice going soft as he began to tire. "I understand why you risk yourself for your sisters, but why for me? You could die."

Lissie gave an unladylike snort as she leaned over to tuck him in. "I risk my health because it is the right thing to do. Now, go to sleep. When you wake up, the stew will be ready, and you'll get another dose of medicine after supper."

Too tired to argue, Erik slipped off into dreams, not realizing that he was smiling just the tiniest bit.

* * *

For me, caring for the Phantom was even more frustrating than caring for my little sisters. At least Meg and Christine didn't yell or try to disobey when I told them to rest. Of course, they'd learned that, by listening to me, they healed faster, which is more than I can say about a certain sick Phantom.

'_And why is he smiling like that_?' I wondered.

I shrugged. He was probably thinking about what life would be like without me here bothering him. Oh, well. It was time to check on dinner anyway.

* * *

AN: I think they're getting closer to becoming friends, don't you? More fun happening next chapter, I promise. Please review!


	10. A Business Proposition

Disclaimer: I own nothing related to _**Phantom of the Opera**_. Only original characters and concepts are mine.

AN: More fun with dear Destiny, Erik, and Lissie in this chapter. Have fun, and please be kind and review! Thanks!

**Chapter 10: A Business Proposition:**

After nearly two weeks of being fussed over, lectured, and bossed about, Erik was more than ready to get out of bed and fend for himself. The young woman currently residing in his home was driving him mad, and he could hardly wait for her to get out and leave him alone.

All that, of course, was a complete lie.

He wouldn't admit it consciously, but inside, Erik was beginning to like having someone else in his home besides him. The sound of footsteps and the feel of another presence was soothing to him, and it helped ease the aching loneliness that had always loomed before she'd come.

'_And, of course, I am growing quite spoiled in having someone else cook my meals for me_,' he thought with a smirk as he lay in his bed.

There was no need for him to remain in bed at this point; in spite of feeling a bit tired, his health was on the mend, and he was able to move around and get dressed without Lissie's help. If he wanted, Erik could wrap himself in his robe and work on his projects or compose music; however, she refused to let him do those things for very long.

"You need to go slowly," Lissie constantly told him. "If you push yourself too hard, you'll have a relapse, and it'll be at least another two weeks before you're well again. Then you will be stuck with me even longer."

She said it as though it were a bad thing, even though it was the furthest thing from the truth. When she wasn't constantly berating him for being foolish with his health, Erik found that he rather liked having Lisette around for company. He hadn't expected that.

Scowling at the roof of the cave, he realized that, two weeks ago, he hadn't known what to expect when it came to young Lisette Giry. True, Erik had watched her constantly for many years, but had kept his distance, and made many assumptions as to her intelligence and personality. He had believed her to be a prodigy, considering how quickly she had learned to read, write, and calculate numbers, but had also thought her to be somewhat soft and silly, like the ballerinas she helped teach.

Now he knew better.

Lisette Giry was indeed smart, but not the genius he'd first believed her to be. She disliked numbers, but was more than able to figure out complicated problems without going into convulsions, which was more than could be said for a majority of the Opera's workers. And though she would probably never read the more challenging books that Erik held so dear, Lissie loved to read the way little Meg loved to dance.

'_Thankfully, Lissie does not possess the vapid intelligence that all of her dancers seem to possess_.' Even young Meg Giry and Christine Daae tended to behave foolishly, occasionally forcing Lissie to take them firmly in hand whenever they threatened to act poorly in front of others.

The thought of an authoritative Lisette made him smile. She reminded him so much of Antoinette when it came to her manners, though her temper was (thankfully) a bit tamer than Anne's was. He distinctly remembered how, during her first Masquerade ball, Lissie had firmly told a man to leave her alone with a swift kick to the leg. The man had been rather forward in his attentions, and had justly deserved it, in Erik's opinion. If Lissie hadn't done something, Erik most likely would have.

And though she had looked splendid in the green satin he'd provided for the Ball, the following year, Erik had sent a bolt of red-and-gold velvet, as a subtle joke to her fiery temper. She hadn't understood the jest, but Erik had been much amused when she'd worn the red seraph-like gown, turning her into a female spirit of fire. It had been a glorious moment for him.

Best of all, she had an appreciation for the arts. He could see the fascination in her eyes as she looked at a music box or finished a painting of his, and it gave him a sense of pride, knowing that she admired his work when no one else had ever seen it. The only thing he hadn't shown her were his music compositions; he was not sure of those just yet.

"Are you awake?" she called into his room, kindly respecting his privacy. "It's lunch time, you know."

Oh, yes, he knew. Lately, Erik had begun to realize that the afternoon and evening meals were far more preferable to breakfast, considering that breakfast meant porridge, which he detested. Sleeping until luncheon was well worth it, as it allowed him more rest and provided a more substantial meal.

When he'd judged that it was a good time to get up, he pulled the covers back and got up, pulling on a robe to keep his decency. He was in loose breeches and a white shirt, but they were rumpled from sleeping in them during the night. Lisette had refused to do his laundry, in spite of doing her own, so there was presently little in the way of clean clothes for him.

"Well, I couldn't expect her to do _everything_," Erik muttered as he made his way to the dining area of the kitchen.

The table was set for two, he was happy to see. Since she was so busy tidying up the caves, Lissie rarely joined him for meals, but when she did, Erik considered it a treat –after years of eating alone, he had grown used to seeing no one sitting across from him. Their meals were usually quiet, but it was nice having company, and he never took that for granted.

Once they had eaten, Lisette took the dishes to the sink and began to wash them clean, leaving Erik alone with his thoughts. Normally, his head was filled with ideas of what he could do to pass the time in his weakened state, but today was different. Part of him was in search of deep thought, and now seemed a proper time to do it.

Closing his eyes, Erik let his mind drift back to when he'd first seen Lisette bent over his sickbed. He had asked her why she cared if he lived or died, and she had replied that all life was precious. She had even told him that he wasn't a monster, nor a freak, and claimed that he wasn't the worst person in the world. Had she been telling the truth?

He considered that. Antoinette would not raise her children to be liars, so the possibility of her eldest spouting lies was unlikely. So if Lisette was telling the truth, she truly did care if he lived or died.

"If you're tired, you should go back to bed," a stern voice told him.

It took Erik a moment to realize that the voice was _not_ Lisette's. Opening his eyes, he saw Antoinette standing in the doorway, hands on her hips as she glared at him.

"Mama!" Lissie cried, putting aside the dish she was washing. "What are you doing here?"

Anne walked up to her daughter and gave her a firm hug. "I came to see how things were progressing, and if you had caught the sickness yourself. However, I can see that you are quite well, so there's no need to worry." She paused. "Well, at least, not for a while."

Lissie blushed and looked down, much to Erik's amusement. It seemed not even she was immune to her mother's sharp tongue.

"Is there a specific reason why you are here, Anne?" he asked. "You have not visited my house for many years, not since you took in a certain orphan baby."

Those grey eyes of hers could shake the hardest of men, of that he was sure. "I am also here to say that it is nearly time for my eldest to return home. You are perfectly able to get around on your own, but if you'd like her to ready a few things to make cooking easier on you, then she will do that. However, it is time for Lisette to return home."

He could hear the underlying message: Antoinette didn't want her daughter here any longer than necessary. Erik, however, couldn't bear the thought of losing the only person who truly cared about his well-being. Anne may have cared once, but with three daughters to care for, she had put him aside for their sakes –and as a result of their waning friendship, Erik wanted very much for Lissie to remain here with him. He'd gotten used to her presence, and the prospect of having eerie silence surround him once more was terrifying.

'_But it isn't as though I can keep her here_,' he reasoned. '_Anne would never forgive me if I did_.'

But there was a plan forming in the back of his mind, and if he played his cards right, he might be able to get his way.

"Very well," he grudgingly told her. "You may take her this evening, if that is your wish."

Anne gave him a suspicious look, but nodded. "Lissie, I will help you prepare a few dishes that Erik can make for himself later, at will. Meanwhile, you should go and rest."

The last remark was for him, and he was willing to obey her just this once. Besides, it would give him time to think out his plan.

"Yes, Madame Giry, that is exactly what I'll do," he said, hiding his smile.

* * *

Sighing, I flopped down on my own bed in relief. For two weeks, I had been sleeping in the infamous phoenix bed (which eerily resembled the one from the film), and while it had been nice to sleep on silk sheets, I was happy to be home. Meg and Christine were ecstatic to have me back, and had chatted at me for hours about things I had missed since I'd left. I had hugged them both very tightly for missing me so much.

Nibbling my bottom lip, I began to realize that I was missing Erik. True, we hadn't talked much during my stay at his home, but the times we did, he'd proved to be a rather amusing pain in the butt. When he was strong enough to work on his sculptures or paintings, I was able to sneak a peek over his shoulder and watch him craft them with the greatest of skill. It was amazing what he could do with a simple block of stone and a chisel, or a piece of wood and a carving knife.

Then, suddenly, it was time to return to the real world, like when Alice woke up from her adventures in Wonderland.

Mama had barely let me stay down there long enough to gather the few pieces of clothes and toiletries she'd brought down for me. After I'd finished packing, she practically dragged me out the door, calling back to Erik that she would check on him later. I had the feeling she didn't want me sticking around him any longer than I had to.

"No kidding," commented a familiar female voice.

Startled, I sat up and looked around. The room was empty, except for me, but that didn't matter; I knew who the voice belonged to.

In a swirl of gold-and-silver lights, Destiny appeared, a smug grin on her face. "Well, I can see that things are going according to plan," she said cheerfully.

Panicked, I looked towards my door, knowing that my mother and sisters were out in the living area and could probably hear what was going on in my room. The walls running along the inside of the apartment weren't thick, though the ones partitioning it off from the rest of the Opera certainly were.

Destiny waved a nonchalant hand towards the door. "Don't worry about it," she assured me. "I've taken precautions so that no one will be able to see or hear what's happening in this room."

I swallowed hard. This was the first time she'd visited me live and in person, so I was a bit worried. "To what do I owe the honor of this visit?" I asked.

Those gold-and-silver eyes focused on me. "Our dear Phantom is going to come to you tonight with a proposition. You have to accept it, no matter what happens. I'm going to be giving you a tiny bit of help with this, which means I'm bending all sorts of rules, but it'll be worth it. Trust me."

That said, she literally popped out of my room, leaving me to stare at the place where she'd been. So Erik was going to visit me tonight? That seemed more a bad thing than good, and when Destiny is going to be 'helping' with it, that did not bode well for me.

Sighing, I lay back in bed and closed my eyes. If I was in for a double whammy, I would definitely need my rest.

* * *

It was the middle of the night when I felt a hand shake my shoulder. A soft voice whispered into my ear, and it took me a minute to realize that it was a _man's_ voice calling to me.

Startled, I gasped and sat up. My visitor didn't even flinch, though I noticed he'd had the decency to light a candle on the far side of the room so that I could see him.

It was Erik, in all his Phantom glory. The white half-mask on the right side of his face, the fine suit, black cape, and even black leather gloves on his hands. He certainly was making up for the lost time he'd spent sick at home.

Scowling, I sat up straighter. "_What_ do you think you're _doing_?" I hissed. "I could have screamed and brought half the Opera House in here!"

He had the nerve to chuckle. "I would have stopped you before you made the first sound."

The overconfidence in his voice made me want to slap him, but I did my best to keep my hands on my covers. Still frowning at him, I asked him what he was doing here.

Much to my surprise, he took a tentative seat on the edge of my bed. "I have come with a business proposition for you, Mademoiselle Giry."

My eyebrows lifted at the eerie echo of Destiny's words. "Alright," I slowly drawled out. "And what would that be?"

He cleared his throat. "It has come to my attention that my home is in need of much keeping. After your departure from my home, I realized that I have become used to having a clean house and decent meals always prepared, as well as the companionship you provided for me. Thus, I would like to hire you as a housekeeper and companion for me."

Of course, I didn't know whether to be insulted or not. In this time period, being someone's "companion" meant something rather dirty, and I did not think that Mama would appreciate me having this sort of discussion, in my bedroom, in the middle of the night, and with the Phantom of the Opera.

Erik probably guessed my thoughts, because he quickly assured me that I was only wanted to cook and clean his house, as well as be someone for him to talk to. The salary he offered was generous, quite a bit more than what I was making as Mama's assistant, and with the promise of more money to come if he was pleased with my work.

Chewing my bottom lip, I thought it over. I could certainly use the extra cash, especially when it came to helping provide for my family. Though we were financially secure, the money that Mama and I made was barely enough to clothe and feed us, not to mention the bills for visits from the doctor whenever we were ill, and gifts for birthdays, Christmas, or special occasions. Between all of those things, we had almost no savings to speak of, so if there was an emergency of some sort, Mama would have to borrow money, which would surely ruin us for a very long time. Borrowing money was not a good idea, no matter what century you're in!

And, of course, I was also thinking of keeping a bit of the money for myself. I very much wanted to buy Mama some decent presents this year, and put some cash money aside for the future, so perhaps this was a good thing. Oh, and it would help Destiny, so it was doubly a good thing.

I nodded. "Alright, I'll do it."

* * *

Erik tried to hide his excitement as he made his way home.

It had taken a while to reach terms they both agreed to, but it was well-worth it. Lissie would start the day after tomorrow, and stay with him for a few hours to see if he truly liked her company and how she did things. If so, she would start out working for him two days a week, slowly increasing the visits to three or four times a week, at most. She could only stay for a few hours at time, however, and for good reason.

"I can't be visiting you every day, nor for too long," she reasoned. "Mama would not allow that, and it would look odd if I suddenly stopped becoming her assistant."

She was right. It would look strange if Lisette suddenly stopped assisting her mother, and there would be questions –_lots_ of questions. She would have to keep her old position in the Opera, but somehow fit working for him into her weekly schedule.

Then, of course, there was Antoinette to deal with. Erik doubted that she would approve of this, but considering how much he was willing to pay for Lisette's hard work, she might allow her eldest to work for him, if only to see how it worked out. She would also be handy in creating a story to hide her daughter's occasional absence.

Once they'd agreed to the arrangement, Erik made a gesture of good faith in the form of a handful of francs. Lissie smiled her thanks, and surprised him in turn with a gift of her own: a black wool scarf. How she'd known he needed a scarf was beyond him, but perhaps it was merely a thoughtful gift from – dare he think it? – a friend.

"It's a birthday present," Lissie had explained as he unraveled it from the wrapping paper. "I couldn't give it to you earlier, since you were sick and everything, but now seems like a good time."

Erik had blushed, much to his embarrassment. Having an actual birthday was still relatively new to him, and this year, in his sickness, he had completely forgotten about it. But Lissie had remembered, and it made his heart warm knowing that she had cared.

Wrapping the scarf around his neck, Erik had barely remembered to thank her before vanishing through the hidden doorway in Lissie's room.

Now, standing in the dark cavern, he found himself grinning. She had agreed to work for him! The day after tomorrow could not come fast enough.

* * *

AN: Much more fun coming up next week! In the meantime, please be kind and review. Thanks!


	11. Housekeeper for a Ghost

Disclaimer: I don't own anything _**Phantom of the Opera**_ (though I wish I did). Only original characters belong to me.

AN: Not much to say in this little note, except that I hope everyone enjoys themselves, and will leave a review to let me know how I'm doing. Thanks a bunch!

**Chapter 11: Housekeeper for a Ghost: **

Needless to say, Mother was not happy with Erik's business proposal. She had a long list of reasons of why I shouldn't work for him: first, that he was possibly mad, and second, he probably wanted to take advantage of me, the poor, innocent daughter of the ballet mistress.

I couldn't blame her for thinking this, of course; given Erik's reputation, even _I_ had a hard time believing in what he'd suggested. However, I knew he was lonely, and after having a taste of compassion and kindness shown to him, it was no wonder he wanted me to spend more time with him. How could I turn him down?

Plus, there was the fact that if I didn't accept this, Destiny would be all over my butt, pestering me in dreams and in real life. Since I couldn't afford to have her nagging me at every turn, I was forced to put all of my persuasion skills to the test when it came to my mother.

My first argument was that we needed the money, something Mama couldn't deny. With three daughters to look after, it was rather hard providing everything we needed. Food wasn't too difficult, since Mama was friends with the Opera cooks, but clothing was proving to be harder and harder to get for three girls, especially since we were all different shapes and sizes.

Although I had stopped growing and no longer needed to constantly lower the hems of my gowns, the same could not be said for my sisters. Given that I was short but curvy (in all the right places, thank goodness), there was little chance of my old clothes fitting either sister. Christine was already showing signs that she was going to be the tall, slim one in our family, so she constantly needed clothes that suited her growing form. Meanwhile, Meg would be short but petite, so there was no way for her to get castoffs from either me or Christine. It was very frustrating for Mama to deal with.

Reluctantly, Mother agreed that I was right about the money. Although she and I were both employed, the two of us could not fully support four people. Meg and Christine were on their way towards joining the ballerinas, but would not be receiving salaries until they were officially hired on as paid dancers. That would not be for several years yet, and we needed the money sooner rather than later.

Secondly, I pointed out that it was not wise to anger the Opera Ghost. Even if he had been pleasant to me and to Mama, things tended to end badly to anyone who upset him. Since none of us wanted to end up on the wrong end of a Punjab lasso, we took another step closer towards her approving of my working for Erik.

It took some time, but after hours of sitting in my room and arguing back and forth, Mama threw her hands up in surrender and gave in. It was strange that she had given in so quickly, and I couldn't shake the feeling that this was the 'help' Destiny had promised me. But since it worked, I couldn't complain.

With that in the bag, I should have sighed in relief –unfortunately, only half of my work was done. The other half was developing a cover story for when I went down to Erik's home.

Creating a cover story that the entire Opera House would believe is harder than one would think. Most of the workers here would buy into anything, so long as it didn't affect them a great deal. Others, however, needed to know even the slightest detail, if only for gossip purposes. Finding just the right story to cover all our bases was going to be difficult.

Fortunately, Mama had a great talent in this.

Our story was relatively simple: Mama, who believed I was overtaxing myself when it came to training the ballerinas, had recently decided that I deserved a change of pace. So, to start things off, I would spend two mornings a week at home. During this time, I would tidy up the house and put a stew or roast on to cook, which would turn into our family's lunch and dinner. After my family and I had luncheon together, I would spend the afternoon with the dancers.

I didn't think that many would find the story believable, but since everyone knew how much Mama loved her daughters, it was a plausible lie. Even Meg and Christine would believe it, since they knew how hard it was to teach dance. As long as those closest to us weren't aware to what I was actually doing during my morning hours, things would be fine.

Or maybe not, considering Mama was still very upset over this whole thing. Still, there was nothing she could do except scowl at the floor, and in the end, she able to accept it…for now, at least.

* * *

Starting any sort of new job can be nerve-wracking –starting a job as the Phantom of the Opera's employee was even harder. For me, it was like taking my emotions and stomping on them with soccer cleats, right before sticking them in a blender and switching it on to full power.

Well, maybe that's an overstatement, but that was what I felt like the night before I was to 'report' to Erik's home. Sleep had not come easily, but I managed to get enough rest so that I wasn't a zombie when I woke to get Meg and Christine ready for the day.

Yes, like any good older sister, I had to get my younger siblings ready in the mornings. Although they were more than able to do it themselves, I'm sorry to say that they can be rather silly at times. This was especially so in the mornings, so I had to occasionally keep a sharp eye on them while Mama and I fixed breakfast. Oh, they were sweet, good-hearted girls, and I loved them dearly, but it was clear that my sisters were spending far too much time with the ballerinas. I'd have to remember to tell that to Mama one of these days.

Once Meg and Christine were safely out the door, Mama pulled me aside and gave me a tight hug. Clearly, she was having second thoughts about me working for Erik, but she wouldn't go back on her word; she had given me her approval, after all, though rather reluctantly. She also knew that I was too stubborn, and since I'd made up my mind to go, I'd do it with or without her permission.

"Be careful, darling," she whispered to me. "Remember the map I drew you, and be aware of your surroundings. Keep your hand at the level of your eyes at all times!"

A quick kiss to my forehead, and she was gone, leaving me alone in our apartment. It was rare for me to have 'quiet time' in our small living space, but I knew I couldn't afford to savor the moment. First, I had to put a soup on the fire to serve as my family's lunch for the day, and a roast in the oven that would be our supper. Both would have plenty of time to cook before it was their time to be eaten.

With both meals prepared and cooking, I retrieved the map my mother had made for me last night, after my sisters had gone to bed. It was a very detailed drawing of the underground route I would take to Erik's home, and even though I'd memorized it, I decided to take it with me, just in case.

Heading out of the door, I locked it tightly and walked down the hallway, counting corridors until I found what I was looking for. Luckily, no one was around to see what I was about to do; they were all busying doing their jobs in other parts of the building.

Taking a deep breath, I went to the back wall and pushed. The wood swung back and over, revealing a stone passageway with a single lit torch flickering in the cross breeze. Erik had clearly thought ahead about this.

I took another deep breath and stepped into the passageway, the door swinging closed behind me. I took the torch off the wall and reached for the map out of my pocket, wondering how I was going to juggle the torch and the rather large folded up piece of paper at the same time.

"Good morning," whispered a voice from the darkness.

Jumping, I tried not to drop the torch as I squeaked in surprise. Behind me, I could hear Erik chuckling in the darkness. Before I could turn around and hit him over the head with my torch, he took it from my hands, leaving me fuming while he smiled down at me. As much as I wanted to utter a few curse words at him, I held back. Angering the Phantom was always a bad thing.

"Are you ready for your first day of work?" he asked in a soft voice. I nodded. "Most excellent. Follow me."

Watching the Phantom swirl his cloak on film is one thing; seeing him do it in real life is something else all together. The first time I'd seen it done in the movie, I'd smiled and sighed at the dramatic effect, since I'd always been a fan of the "dramatic cape swoosh." Watching Erik actually twirl his cloak as he walked by, in full Phantom regalia, had me trapped between drooling and fainting in the most awkward fan-girl way. It was rather embarrassing, but I couldn't help it; I'd always had a thing for cloaks and capes, especially if they were on tall, dark, mysterious figures. It was a sort of weakness of mine.

Bringing myself back to the present, I followed Erik down the passageway. "I didn't think that you would be here to escort me," I softly commented. "Mama drew a map for me to follow, so I'm sure I would have found my way on my own."

I heard him chuckle softly, the sound eerie in the flickering light of the torch and darkness of the cavern. "I'm sure you would have," he said. "But I came to see to your safety, just to be sure you wouldn't wander and lose yourself."

That made me scowl. "How did you know which passage I would take?" I asked, suspicious. "There are a lot of them around the Opera House."

"I've been watching you." The way he so easily said that sent a shiver down my spine. He'd been watching me?

"Um, how long have you been…watching?" I asked nervously.

He snuck a peek over his shoulder at me, and I swear I could see the amusement in his eyes. "That, you do not need to know," he answered.

Actually, I _did_ want to know, but it would probably be a bad idea to push it. Besides, I might not like the answer, so it was best if I kept my mouth shut.

The rest of the journey was quiet. We reached the hidden doorway to Erik's home in record time, and soon, I was standing in the cave beside the lake. Looking around, I couldn't help but wince at the sight.

The place was even worse than when I'd left. Clothing, dirty plates and empty cups were scattered about, and I spotted a light sprinkling of dust on a couple tabletops. It took all of my willpower not to burst into a lecture about cleanliness right then and there. If I'd done that, I had no doubt that a swift dunking in the lake would quickly follow.

"I know your time here is short," Erik was telling me as I looked around, "so I do not expect you to perform miracles. A bit of cleaning would suffice, as would a hot meal I could have later today. Could you do this?"

Well, duh, of course I could! Not that I said it aloud; instead, I simply nodded and said, "Of course. Do you mind if I look around and assess the damage?"

He looked at me like he couldn't tell if I was joking or not, but nodded. "I'm sure you know your way around. I will be in my work room near the rear of the house, where we came in. You are _not_ to go inside there for any reason unless invited, do you understand?"

It took me less than five seconds to realize that Erik considered his workroom a sanctuary. I had no doubt that if I went in there and moved so much as a single tool, he would be _very_ unhappy with me. Since I was trying to avoid both the Punjab lasso and a swim in the lake, I simply nodded.

A minute later, I was alone. The cave was silent but for the sound of dripping water and small waves softly lapping at the lake's shore. Surprisingly, it wasn't muggy down here, an observation I'd failed to make during my first visit (which, considering how busy I'd been, that was understandable). The air was rather cool, but pleasantly so. It'd probably be freezing when winter came.

Shaking my head, I brought myself back to the task at hand. My first order of business was to assess what was in the pantry, then see what I could make from what I'd found. This took about ten minutes. Apparently Erik either doesn't eat very much, or he'd eaten most of his food and hadn't gone shopping yet. I didn't think that he was the type to visit the markets, but I'd heard stories of food vanishing from the Opera kitchens, so I had a guess as to where the vanishing produce had skipped off to.

With what was left, I made a soup of potatoes, bacon, onions, and a few herbs lying around the spice shelves. Hopefully, that would be passable for today. I'd have to tell Erik that if he wanted me to do any _real_ cooking, he would have to do some grocery shopping.

As his lunch/supper cooked on the stove, I went to assess what should be cleaned first. The bedroom turned out to be the worst, with clothes scattered _everywhere_, just like when I'd first been down here. Why was it so hard for the man to pick up even a single sock? Honestly, it was disgusting!

"Well, there's no way in hell _I'm_ going to do his laundry," I muttered. The Phantom would have to get his own socks clean!

It took a while to pick up all of the clothes, then sort them into different piles –things that were mostly clean went on the bed while the dirty stuff went on the floor. With that finished, I went to check on the soup. It was coming along nicely, with the potatoes breaking up and thickening the broth to the point where it was almost a gravy. The bacon added salt and a meaty flavor, but I put in a bit more salt after a quick taste test.

Leaving the soup to cook, I went back to the bedroom to dust and straighten up the objects on his nightstand and desk. I couldn't believe how many tables and desks Erik had scattered around his home, and all of them had a hundred things scattered across them. His bedroom desk was no exception, since it held his shaving kits, hair brushes, combs, and an assortment of masks. It was interesting to look at, but looking distracted me from my job, so I had to force myself to do what he was paying me to do. It was hard, though, considering who I was working for.

By the time I was finished with the bedroom, it was getting close to luncheon; I'd have to return home soon in order to be there before my mother and sisters arrived. The soup was done by this point, so I went back to Erik's workroom and knocked. There was a muffled curse, followed by the sound of a chair scraping the floor, and then he was there, fuming as he stood in the doorway.

"What?" Erik snapped, a deep scowl on his face.

He had removed his cape, coat, cravat, and other formal attire, leaving on his white shirt, black breeches, and a black leather belt. He'd even taken off his dress shoes and replaced them with comfy-looking, knee-high black boots. The white half-mask had stayed where it was.

Barely keeping myself from drooling, I swallowed and gathered my wits.

"Your room is as tidy as I can make it with the time allowed," I said. "Your cleaner clothes are piled on your bed; I suggest you sort and fold them yourself. The dirty clothes are on the floor, where they belong, for you to wash. A soup is simmering on the stove for you to help yourself to whenever you wish."

Erik blinked at me, then nodded. "That will do nicely. Anything else?"

Clearing my throat, I replied, "I will need you to take me upstairs now. I have to be home before Mama and my sisters arrive."

Was it my imagination, or did he look disappointed? It lasted for only a second, but I could have sworn that it looked like he wanted me to stay a bit longer. Maybe next time, I would.

"Will you return tomorrow?" he asked. "Or perhaps the day after?"

I nodded. "If you'd like. Before I do, however, you might want to do a bit of grocery shopping. Your cupboards are rather bare; I barely had enough ingredients to make your soup, and that was with a _lot_ of creativity."

Erik was swift to promise that his shelves would be stocked, and I had a feeling that the Opera's kitchens would have a shortage of many ingredients by tomorrow night. I silently prayed that he left a little bit of monetary compensation for the chefs to buy more food, otherwise there would be diners going short during mealtimes.

I waited a moment for him to grab a cloak and torch, then proceeded to follow him up to the Opera House. There, he surprised me by taking me directly through the door that went into my bedroom!

"I believe this would make things more convenient for you," he said, swinging the door open a little further. "This is for you."

It was an envelope, and it was rather heavy. I knew it had to have money in it, but dared not take it out to count –that would be rude, and Mama did not raise me to be rude.

Instead, I smiled up at him. "Thank you. I hope the soup is satisfactory, but next time I shall try and make it up to you."

Surprisingly, Erik returned my smile with a small one of his own. "I'm sure it will suffice. I will see you again in two days."

With a bow of his head, he was gone, the door sliding shut behind him and leaving no trace of its existence. Breathing out a sigh, I waited a full minute before opening the envelope.

The contents made me gasp. For these few hours of work, he had paid me more than I normally made in a week! Mama was either going to be thrilled, or very upset. It might be best if I hid some of the money to soften the blow when I showed her my "pay."

Of course, it was then that I heard my family entering the apartment.

* * *

Watching through a carefully placed spy hole, Erik saw Lissie stash part of her payment under her mattress while the rest went back in the envelope, which she put on her small desk. He had paid her well, half hoping that it would induce her to stay, and half believing that he would never see her again after today. Now, he thanked whatever Power was listening that she had decided to continue working for him.

As he watched the family sit down to lunch, Erik noticed that one of them was humming. It was rather off-key, but still better than some of the chorus girls he'd heard around the Opera.

"Christine, no humming at the table," Lissie gently chided.

His interest peaked, Erik watched the young girl until she was finished with her meal, after which she began to hum again. She had relatively good pitch, but lacked the skill it would take to make her a singer.

'_I could change that_,' he thought to himself. '_With enough practice and teaching, Christine Daae could even replace the diva_.'

And wouldn't that please her foster family? Surely having a prima ballerina and a prima donna in one household would please Antoinette? And of course, it would lighten the burden on her shoulders, as well as Lisette's. He would have to consider this carefully.

'_In the meantime, I have some shopping to do_.' He wanted everything ready for when Lissie returned to his home.

* * *

AN: (grins evilly) Yup, things are starting to get on track. More fun happening soon!


	12. The Odd Couple

Disclaimer: I don't own anything _**Phantom of the Opera**_ (though I wish I did). Only original characters belong to me.

AN: To those who celebrate it: Happy Thanksgiving everyone! The holiday is why this update is late, partially because I'm so full of delicious food. Anyway, there's some bonding and clashing between Erik and Lissie, which means fun for everyone…maybe. Please be kind and leave a review. Thanks!

**Chapter 12: The Odd Couple****:**

My second day as Erik's housekeeper went _slightly_ smoother than my first, but was still bumpy.

As promised, Erik had done some "grocery shopping," so the shelves were fairly well stocked with food. This made cooking a lot easier on me, and I appreciated his efforts in helping. I was able to put together a roast for his dinner, and a small pot of soup to tide him over until that evening, which was when the meat would be done. I even sliced a loaf of bread for him, and stashed the slices beneath an overturned bowl to keep rodents away.

The only downturn on this visit was Erik's sad attempts at picking up after himself. How the man had managed to make such a mess in less than two days was _beyond_ me, but he'd done it. Shirts, cravats, socks, and gloves had somehow managed to multiply in my absence, and it made for a pretty gross sight. At least there were no undergarments lying about; that would have been the last straw for me, and Erik probably knew it, so he probably dealt with that himself.

On the plus side, I didn't recognize any of the clothes that I retrieved from the floor or furniture, so whatever I had picked up on my previous visit had apparently been washed and tucked away. I suppose that was something, since Erik was doing his best (or was, at least, putting on an effort) to keep clean, but he still needed a lot of coaching.

So training Erik in the art of housekeeping was going to be one of the tough parts of my job. The other difficult thing about this arrangement was my playing the 'hired friend.'

I felt sort of cheap being used as a friend-for-hire, but if it got me one step closer to fulfilling Destiny's plan for Erik, then I really shouldn't complain (even though I would certainly be doing so in my head). But on the other hand, here I was, working for the legendary Phantom of the Opera, so I decided that I should take the opportunity to actually get to know the man behind the mask. I hadn't encountered the murderous side of him – except for when he'd rescued me –, so I figured I might as well take advantage of the situation.

Of course, it would figure that getting time alone with him was all but impossible. Erik loved to work on his masterpieces, and so he required a lot of isolation and quiet. I had the feeling that he wouldn't appreciate being interrupted, but I decided to take a chance, if only to get him to open up a bit.

Sadly, this was a hard lesson learned. I'd made the mistake of knocking on his workroom door while he'd been carving a wooden frame for a painting, and the knock had startled him. His hand had jerked, and caused him to carve a large, crooked line in the wood, ruining the frame. He hadn't gotten far in the first place, but it had still pissed him off, which was understandable. Still, that hadn't given him the right to throw the chunk of wood at my head when I'd entered the room!

This little encounter had been the most exciting part of my day. I had yelled at Erik to stop throwing things, and he had roared for me to get out and never bother him while he was working. After that, I figured that if I popped in while he was working on a sculpture, he'd throw the hammer at me, and if I interrupted him composing a song, I'd likely get the entire organ thrown at my head. Thus, it was a lesson learned: don't go bothering Erik at any point while he was working.

I had then spent the rest of my morning tidying up the kitchen, which was as far away from Erik's workroom as possible. Now it was time for me to head upstairs, and I wondered if I should wait for Erik to escort me, or if I should attempt the trip alone. He had been kind enough to bring me down here, but I doubted that he would be cooperative this time. Since I had Mama's map in my pocket, maybe I could figure it out on my own?

I was so busy thinking that I hadn't heard the workroom door open, nor the footstep behind me. Instead, I simply turned around and walked smack into Erik's chest. I would have fallen over if he hadn't caught me and held me upright. Surprisingly, his hands were firm, but gentle as they grasped my arms.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"Yes, thank you," I replied, nodding. Then I blinked and looked up at him. "Wait a minute; I thought you were angry with me for my little interruption."

Erik's lips gave a twitch, and his eyes sparkled just the tiniest bit, though the rest of his face stayed stoic. I could tell he was slightly amused, though. "I have decided to forgive you," he said, "but only if you promise never to interrupt me like that again. My art is delicate and difficult, so if you _must_ interrupt me, try and be as discreet and quiet as possible."

That was a reasonable request. "Alright," I agreed, silently wondering why I hadn't thought of that. "What would you like me to do instead? Knock softer, or maybe ring a small bell outside your door?"

He seemed to like that. "A bell would be appropriate. I will procure one before your next visit, and create a mechanism that, when you pull a string, will cause a tiny bell to chime whenever you wish to see me. It isn't the perfect solution, but it is better than you pounding on my door to get my attention."

"Alright then," I cheerfully said. "Now, there's a small roast in the oven; remember to take it out this evening, or else it will get dry and tough. There are some potatoes cooking with it to soak up the meat drippings, so you should have a fine meal tonight and tomorrow morning, if you put the leftovers on a _very low_ fire overnight."

I pointed towards the stove. "There is also a pot of soup on a low fire for you to have whenever you're ready. It should be mostly done, but feel free to keep that on a low flame for tomorrow, too, if you'd like."

My hand now waved towards the other end of the cave. "Your clothes are in piles on the floor and the bed, like before. I highly suggest you begin picking up after yourself, unless you want the rats and mice to get hold of your clothes to make their nests with."

He glared at me, but that didn't stop me from speaking my mind. "At least put your dirty clothes in a basket with a lid on the top," I suggested. "That way, your dirty clothes are easier to store and take to get washed."

Erik promised to take that under advisement. "Now, may I see you home?" he asked, apparently eager to get me out of his house before I lectured him further. "You must go, or else you will arrive after your family does."

Then, to my surprise, he offered to take me home by a different route –not through the tunnels, but in the gondola. I was so excited, I couldn't hide my excitement, which, for some reason, caused Erik a great deal of amusement.

"I've always wanted to ride in a gondola," I explained, taking off the apron he had provided for me. "I've seen them in books, and read that they're the main way to travel in Venice, which is a place I've always wanted to see. I never thought I'd ride in a gondola in Paris, of all places."

He gave me a half smirk. "You are easy to please and amuse. I will fetch my cloak, and then we will leave."

I could barely contain my excitement as I put aside my apron and made my way for the shore of the lake. There the gondola sat, bobbing slightly as it floated in the blackness of the water, tied to a metal pole wedged between two large rocks. It was sleek and elegant, with a red velvet interior. For some reason, it didn't make any sense for there to be a seat, since Erik didn't exactly sit down while rowing. But from what I could remember, gondolas had been used by nobles in Venice for centuries, and were always beautifully decorated and upholstered. It would figure that Erik would want a "fancy ride" while he was going to and from his underground house.

Speaking of which, my gondolier appeared a moment later, black cloak around his shoulders and contrasting nicely with his white dress shirt. Gloves covered his hands, and curiously enough, there was a length of soft grey-black material over his left arm. As he came up to the water, Erik shook out the material, revealing it to be a cloak just my size.

"A gift," he said as he settled it around my shoulders. "I know it is cold here in my caverns, and with winter coming, you will need it whenever you come here to work."

The outer layer of the cloak itself was soft lamb's wool, with a layer of silk placed between the wool and an inner layer of pearl-grey velvet, to protect my skin from the coarseness of the wool. It was the warmest piece of clothing I had ever been given, and the velvet was heaven against my fingers as I reached up to touch it.

"Thank you," I said, blushing slightly. "It's lovely."

It was the best gift he could give me. Since it was a blackish-grey, it didn't look fancy, so no one would be suspicious of my having a new cloak for winter. My old cloak had long been worn down to rags, so the sudden appearance of this one would not be surprising.

Clearing his throat, Erik gestured towards the gondola. "Shall we?"

* * *

He had never brought happiness to a person before, and Erik found that he rather liked the feeling it brought him. Oh, he knew that his previous gifts to Lissie had brought joy to her heart, but this was different. Giving her a turn in his gondola was making a dream of hers come true, and it thrilled him to know that he had given that to her.

The ride was quiet, peaceful even, and Lisette had savored every minute of it. From his stance behind her, he watched as she looked at the stone walls, staring at the detailed carvings he had made. Expressions of awe, puzzlement, and interest had played across her face, but she'd said nothing to him, probably fearful of making him upset with her words. He silently thanked her for that bit of consideration.

When they arrived, Erik reached a hand out to her, softly, gently helping Lisette out of the boat and onto the shore. Once they were safely on land, Erik retrieved the torch he always kept burning here, then motioned for her to follow him. It was a short walk up a flight of stairs and down a few passageways; then, they were at her room.

"I think," she softly told him, looking back as he waved her inside, "that I prefer the gondola to walking the caves. But since walking is easier than rowing, the caverns might be less effort on you."

Erik didn't know whether he should be insulted or not. Did she not think him strong enough to bring her to and from his home? He worked hard to keep himself in fine physical shape, which was more than he could say about the Opera's stagehands. Did Lissie see him as weak?

'_No_,' whispered another part of him, '_she is just being considerate of you and your health_.'

Damn it, that little voice was right. He had just fully recovered from influenza, and Lissie was likely trying to make sure that he didn't overtax himself too soon. The fact that she actually cared about him that much quickly doused his temper.

"I believe you are right," he whispered. "I will come for you in three day's time. In the meantime, I will try and not wreck all of your hard work."

She grinned up at him. "You do that. Believe me when I say you need the practice!"

Erik bit back a chuckle as he bowed and slipped back into the passageway, swinging the door shut behind him. He could hardly wait for next week.

* * *

It took another two weeks for me to finally figure out Erik's eating habits.

Although he seemed to like my cooking (or at least, like it enough to eat it), Erik tended to take very odd and infrequent meal breaks. This was because he was so busy focusing on his artwork, he sometimes forgot to eat something to keep his strength up. I doubted the man even ate breakfast in the morning, which explained why he was on the thin side.

In the end, I had to resort to _making_ him eat, and that required me to interrupt his work.

The bell idea we had come up with turned out to be a very poor one, because Erik was just as startled by the bell ringing as he had been by my knocking. By the end of my second week, we simply gave up on it and decided to leave his door open so that I could enter if I needed to. This proved to be the best arrangement, particularly since I had decided to be the one that made sure Erik kept himself fed.

By the start of the third week (or day five of my employment), I'd developed a plan: slip into the room, leave a light snack or morning tea tray on a nearby table, then slip back out again without being noticed.

Imagine how surprised I was that this little plan of mine was actually successful. The first time I did it (work day number six), I'd expected Erik to come storming out of his workroom, temper flaring at having been intruded upon and yelling that I should never enter that place again.

Instead of the noise and temper tantrums I'd been expecting, I waited a while, then went to check and see if he'd eaten anything off the tea tray I'd left. Poking my head inside the workroom, I saw empty plates and the lid off of the tea pot, signaling that it, too, was empty. Success! And since Erik was busy working on something, I was able to slip inside and retrieve the tray without causing a fuss.

Satisfied with the outcome of my experiment, I was bold enough to try it several more times over the next month. Each time, I put a tray of tea, sandwiches, and buttered bread with jam on a table; an hour or two later, I would check on it and find the food gone, the teapot empty. I couldn't be more satisfied with my efforts than when I saw those bare platters.

Erik never said a word about the trays, not even to thank me, but then, he didn't have very good social skills. Not that I expected thanks, though it would have been nice to know he appreciated it. But even if he didn't verbally show his gratitude, Erik was able to show it in other ways.

Socially awkward, I figured that he would never thank me in person. Then once again, he surprised me: six weeks after I'd begun leaving tea trays, I began finding little presents waiting for me on the days when I wasn't working for him. These were small things, like a box of chocolates or lovely wooden knickknacks that Erik had made with his own hands. The chocolates usually disappeared into my sisters and mother, but the knickknacks quickly took up residence on my desk and bedside tables –I would never give those away.

The funniest presents, however, were the bars of fine soap that I occasionally found waiting on my desk. These were the finest, most expensive soaps that only the _prima donna_ could afford, and I had a sneaking suspicion that Erik hadn't gone out and purchased these himself. Given that our present diva was prone to throwing things whenever she was angry, Erik had probably obtained these after one of her "fits," then passed them on to me. And since I had a love for fine, perfumed soaps, I was thrilled with these gifts, though I was careful to use them only on special occasions. Smelling suspiciously like the diva would only lead to my being fired for having what was hers in the first place.

But no matter what gift he left, I was touched that Erik cared enough to leave it for me. However one of these days, I knew that I would have to get the man to come out of that shell he had created around himself. Destiny would want me to try and make Erik more sociable, and I knew I'd have to be the one to take the first step.

Of course, that was also when Erik decided to do the unexpected.

* * *

So many months of Lisette's company had spoiled him. Though she was not there more than twice a week, Erik felt rather spoiled from all of the things she had been cooking and feeding him in that time.

And not only did she make her food tasty, she also made plenty of it. Lissie had been quick to learn that he took infrequent meals, usually at odd times, and had prepared her dishes accordingly. Roasts were usually the norm, as well as soups, stews, and even the occasional meat-and-vegetable pie –all of which were slow to cook, could be kept over a fire for long periods of time (or even overnight), and were easy to warm up if he let them grow cold.

But best of all were her tea trays. Erik had always enjoyed a soothing cup of tea, but whenever Lisette left a tray for him, it had delicious little sandwiches, fruit slices, bread and jam, or even croissants. The girl was spoiling him to the point where he wanted her to spend even more time down in his cavern home.

The question was how to convince her to spend more than two days a week in his employ.

Erik was sure that he could not bribe her; she was too honorable for that. A pay raise might do the trick, but only if she felt she'd earned it –Lisette was not the sort who would enjoy the idea of doing the same amount of work for more pay. He could thank Antoinette's influence for her daughter's high morals.

Finally, he decided to simply ask her to spend an extra day or two a week at his home. The worst she could say was 'no,' but if she agreed, he would insist on paying her accordingly.

Straightening his cravat, Erik stepped into the gondola and pushed off into the water, heading for the Girys'. He arrived at the apartment in record time, and as always, Lisette was there waiting for him.

"Good morning," she cheerfully greeted him.

Her greeting lightened his heart, as it always did. Very few people had ever greeted him with a smile on their face, but Lissie did, and Erik always savored each of their morning encounters. It truly was amazing how other people took such a thing for granted.

"Good morning," he replied. "Shall we go? I brought the gondola today."

Her smile grew wider and more excited at the prospect of traveling on the water. They did not take the boat often, but when they did, Lissie always cheered considerable. Erik tried not to preen at his thoughtfulness of taking the water craft today.

Together they traveled through the passageways down to the water, where Erik gently handed Lissie into the boat. He waited patiently as she settled herself and her skirts, then pushed off into deeper water. They traveled in silence for a while, as Erik gathered his courage to speak.

"Lisette," he finally whispered, just loud enough to be heard, but not so that his words would echo in the stone caverns. "I wish to ask a favor of you."

He saw her stiffen, and knew she was expecting the worst: that she do some sort of task for him in the Opera House. There was no need for that, of course; Antoinette was the one he trusted with such responsibilities, though he was sure she hadn't told Lissie that.

"I was hoping that you would come work for me an extra day or two each week," he said, rushing to sooth her ruffled feathers. "I will, of course, pay you accordingly."

The tension went out of her, much to his relief. "Well," she said thoughtfully, "I suppose that will be alright. As long as Mama approves, of course."

Erik could barely hide his excitement. "Of course," he said, pulling through the gates that led to his home. He had no doubt that Anne would agree.

He could feel his day getting better already.

* * *

AN: Looks like there will be more time spent between Erik and Lissie. Things can only get more interesting from here on out! Please be kind and review. Thanks!


	13. Bonding Over Music

Disclaimer: I own nothing related to _**Phantom of the Opera**_. Only original characters and concepts are mine.

AN: Someone asked me what Erik does with his dirty laundry, since he probably doesn't have the time to do it himself. The answer: even I have no idea, though Lissie seems to have her own thoughts on the matter. We'll have to ask her. Anyway, have fun reading, and please review! Thanks!

**Chapter 13: Bonding Over Music:**

Glancing out of the corner of my eye, I watched Erik scribble something onto a sheet of paper and tried not to chuckle. I knew what usually came next: cursing, muttering, and a few bars of music played on the rather impressive organ that sat perched against the wall.

It had been three weeks since Erik had request my spending more time with him, and thus far, I wasn't sure it was working out.

Why we had this arrangement, I didn't know. We almost never talked, because Erik spent our entire time together working on his music. If he wasn't at the organ, playing out notes before writing them down, then he was at his desk, humming to himself as he scribbled down notes onto a piece of empty sheet music. Occasionally, Erik would mutter a few curses as he got stuck, which I found rather funny to watch. Of course, I never laughed out loud at him or his antics, because I knew if I did, he'd probably string me up for it.

'_Well, Mama always did tell me to beware the Phantom's temper_,' I thought with a smile, eyes drifting back towards my book.

Not surprisingly, Mama wasn't happy about my spending more time at Erik's, even with the generous sum he offered in compensation. But after arguing with me for an hour, she eventually gave in and reluctantly agreed to let me go. Now I spent four mornings a week in the underground caves, though if Erik decided he wanted me for more, he'd have to face my mother in order to do so. Somehow, I don't think even Erik was willing to brave my mother's temper just to get his way.

A few notes filled the air as Erik played what he'd written so far, but stopped after eight or ten notes, just like he always did. A few more muttered curses and scribbling, and he was at it again, leaving me alone with the book I had in my lap.

Honestly, I never thought that _this_ would be part of my job here. Right now, I hovered between the belief that this was either my dream job, or punishment for something bad I'd done.

In the dream job aspect, I was now able to sit and read for two hours a day, with the Phantom of the Opera sitting nearby, composing an opera or creating works of art. I could sit on a plush little couch that he'd put near him, wrap a warm blanket around me, and read books that would normally take me weeks to save up for.

On the down side, I had to put up with Erik and his artistic 'blockages.' Sometimes he'd be on a roll when he composed (or made art works, depending on his mood), but other times, he'd have a 'block,' and couldn't seem to get very far. I'd spend hours listening to him complain, throw a hissy-fit, or even kick something over in order to vent his anger. Although he had never harmed me, his outbursts tended to be rather disturbing.

This, of course, had all started because of the cooking, which was what got me this odd job position in the first place.

It hadn't taken me long to discover shortcuts in making meals for Erik. Since he tended to not have a regular eating schedule, I made things that could be kept over a fire (or cooking in or on the stove) for long periods of time. These mostly included stews, soups, roasts, and meat or vegetable pies, but Erik never complained. Plus, I tried to make these foods in a variety of ways to keep from repeating myself, so there was really nothing for him to complain about.

Obviously, with less cooking to do, I began to have a lot more free time. At first, I had intended to use those hours to clean up after Erik, but it seemed he had grown rather fond of having a clean home, and refused to wait for me to do it for him. He even picked up his socks, which rather surprised me.

However, I was rather suspicious on how he managed to keep his clothing in such impeccable shape. Erik was a man so consumed with his art, as well as causing trouble for the Opera House, I had to wonder how in the world he managed to do all of his laundry. I suspected he had a laundrywoman somewhere who care of it, but rather doubted that he would risk the secrecy of his existence just to have clean shirts. Since I'd probably never know the secret behind his cleanliness, I simply shrugged it off; knowing Erik, he probably just threw away whatever he got dirty and made new ones. How very like a man!

Well, since my cleaning efforts were no longer really needed, I now had two or three hours to burn after I'd finished cooking. After I'd told Erik of this new development in my schedule, he had decided that I would begin spending these free hours with him.

'_Big mistake on my part_,' I thought, rolling my eyes as Erik started playing the same four bars over and over again.

As much as I liked the man, this was not a fun arrangement for me. I couldn't read with all the noise he made, and Erik tended to get rather grumpy if I left his side for more than five minutes. It was like keeping company with a testy, possessive dog, and I was starting to get annoyed with this whole thing. Maybe getting "artist's block" was Erik's punishment for making me sit with him for hours on end…

An explosion of notes filled the air, causing me to jump and nearly drop my book. Cursing, I turned and saw Erik raising his fists above the ivory keys, ready to strike them again, and knew I had to say something.

"Okay, that does it," I snapped, slamming my book shut, the sound echoing through the cave. "I'm sick and tired of being chained to this sofa and hearing you play the same thing over and over again. I'm bored and I'm hungry, so I'm going to the kitchen to get something to eat. And I'm taking my book with me!"

Erik stared at me, mouth open in shock as I turned and left. I had reached the kitchen and was getting out the teapot by the time he'd recovered. I could hear his angry footsteps as he stalked into the kitchen.

"_What_ do you think you are _doing_?" Erik demanded, fists clenched as he watched me.

"Making tea for myself," I calmly replied. "I was thinking about making some chocolate chip cookies, too. Would you like some?" Since I liked being considerate of others, I felt obliged to ask him if he wanted any.

I had never seen a man look so surprised in my life. Of course, he'd probably never been asked that question before in his life. At that point, I felt rather ashamed. Up until then, I had been cooking random meals and never considered Erik's preferences when it came to food. I now realized I should have asked him this much sooner.

"You know, I have never even asked if you had any preferences when it came to meals," I said, setting water to boil and taking down a tin of tea. "I've been choosing what to cook so far, and that isn't fair to you. So, what sort of things would you like me to cook?"

For a moment, there was silence as Erik stood there in the doorway of the kitchen. I could feel his eyes focused on me as I tried to keep myself occupied. It took a good minute or two for him to answer.

"Everything you have cooked so far has been delicious," he slowly replied. "Although…I admit that I have a fondness for sweet things. I don't suppose you can bake?"

With two younger sisters who also loved baked treats, I had learned to bake very early in life. Mama no longer had the time to do so, and the responsibility of indulging Meg and Christine's sugary vice had fallen to me.

"Actually, I can," I said, mentally checking through the ingredients in the pantry. "I can bake several different kinds of pie and cookies. I can even bake a cake in either chocolate or vanilla, but nothing fancy."

I had even managed to do brownies once or twice, though I kept that a secret –I had no idea if brownies had been invented yet in this century, and didn't want to mess up any timelines by making something I shouldn't!

Meanwhile, Erik looked as though he were going to faint with joy. "If you could bake something for me to have later, I'll double your pay for today," he said, a smile on his face. "I am _very_ fond of chocolate."

"Who isn't?" I chuckled. "I'll make a few dozen chocolate chip cookies for you. They should last until my next visit, and then you can tell me what else you would like me to make in the future."

If the infamous Phantom could skip out of a room, I think he would have. This totally proved the old saying: the way to a man's heart was through his stomach. If baking cakes or pies could sooth the Ghost's temper, I was all for it!

After Erik had returned to his music, I heard a soft feminine chuckle in my ears, and a voice whispered, "Nicely done."

Knowing that I had Destiny's approval, I smiled and began gathering the ingredients for chocolate chip cookies.

* * *

Things became far smoother between me and Erik after that. As corny as it sounds, he probably needed my baking skills to "sweeten" him up a bit, because he was always careful about how he treated me after our little meeting in the kitchen. The first thing that changed was how we spent our time together.

Instead of me sitting in silence and listening to Erik's grumblings, the two of us actually talked to one another as he worked. Whether he was focused on composing a piece of music, or crafting wood, stone, or metals with his hands, Erik attempted something I never pictured the Phantom capable of doing: he tried polite 'chit-chat.'

Needless to say, things were kind of awkward at first. He didn't know what to say to me, and since I didn't want to risk ticking him off by saying the wrong thing, I tried to keep my mouth shut. Once and a while, he would ask how I was, but after I answered, things got quiet again. The awkwardness that filled the air was so thick, you could swim through it.

Then, one day, I decided to make a go of it. While he sat bent over a desk set up next to his organ, I asked, "Erik, what are you working on?"

He started in his chair and turned to look at me. I saw flashes of anger, frustration, and surprise in those green eyes, but surprise won out. It took a moment for the shock to fade, but when it did, he was cordial in his response.

"I am composing an opera," Erik softly replied. "But I am afraid that I have become stuck in one particular part."

Well, _that_ certainly explained his grumpiness. I'd be angry, too, if I wanted desperately to do something but couldn't get very far.

"Can I help?" I asked. "You could play what you have so far, and I could tell you what I hear in the music."

He perked up at that idea. "You would do that for me? And you will be honest afterwards, and not spare my feelings? I have to know if the truth about my work, or else it will be for nothing."

Having grown up in an opera house, I knew how to judge good music from bad simply by listening to all of the performances the cast and crew had put on over the years. Most were good, but some of the newer works weren't so great. Hopefully, Erik's piece was more of the former than the latter.

I nodded and motioned for him to begin, closing my eyes as I leaned back on the couch. I waited a full minute before opening them again, because Erik hadn't begun as I'd asked.

"Why did you close your eyes?" he asked, looking somewhere between puzzlement and anger. "I know it cannot be that bad."

"I closed my eyes so that I can focus my ears entirely on the music," I calmly explained. "It also allows me to clear my mind so that I'm not preoccupied."

Erik nodded as the anger and tension leaked from his body. "That makes sense. Now, close your eyes, and I will play." I nodded and did as instructed.

The music that flowed around me was indescribable. It started dark and haunting, but gradually became lighter and softer, like warm sunlight through parting storm clouds. I imagined the earth waking as the sunshine spread, and animals coming out from their hiding places as the darkness passed.

Then, all of a sudden, it stopped, and I was brought back to reality. A bit of the imagery in my head faded, but I think I had what Erik needed for his music.

"It's a beautiful piece," I said, keeping my eyes closed. I told him what I'd seen in my imagination, and asked if the ending was near.

"It is very close," he admitted. "But I am afraid that I do not know how to end it."

"I think you aught to keep it light and sweet, perhaps gradually building up to a brilliant ending," I suggested. "I can almost see birds flying up into brilliant sunlight, and that is where, I think, you should end it. Preferably on a happy note to leave the listener smiling."

Erik immediately turned towards his organ, one hand quickly snatching up a quill. "Yes," he muttered, scribbling his idea down onto the sheet music. "That makes sense…"

Knowing that was all the thanks I was going to get, I turned my attention back to my book.

* * *

The day he finished his operetta was a glorious one. Were it not for Lisette's help, it would have festered in the back of his mind for weeks, perhaps even months, before he could finish it. Now it was completed and neatly scrawled out in final form, waiting for him to play it for her.

Sadly, he had not been able to see Lissie for three days, as was part of his arrangement with her: Lissie would work for him Mondays through Thursdays, and Fridays through Sundays she would spend with her family. She had left him to his composing on Thursday, and he had finished it the day after, leaving him just enough time to perfect it before her return.

In the short time she'd been gone, Erik had felt as though he were on pins and needles, so strong was his eagerness to play his music for her. Finally, though, Monday had come again, and after he'd fetched Lissie from her room, he told her to wait before beginning her cooking preparations, and come to the music room. She had smiled at him, but did as he asked. As she settled onto the soft plush couch, Erik raised his hands over the keys of the organ, then began to play.

He heard her gasp softly, but did not pause. Instead, his fingers kept playing, but he could almost sense that Lissie's eyes had closed and that she was smiling as she listened. Just the idea that Lissie was enjoying his work renewed Erik's confidence, and even after he'd finished the last note, that vigor stayed with him.

Turning to face his audience, he saw Lissie raise her hands and begin to clap, a broad smile on her face. Erik couldn't help but preen and give a slight bow to her applause.

"That was beautiful," she praised him. "It never ceases to amaze me how talented you are."

He blushed. To be honest, Erik knew that he was a genius, and had many skills and abilities that others did not. But to hear another human being praise him and his skills was a new experience he never thought to have. What was more, Lissie meant every word she said to him, and Erik could feel his self-confidence rise a little bit. Praise was rare in his world, and he savored it whenever he encountered it.

"I am not that skilled," he murmured in an attempt to stay humble. What was that old saying? Pride comes before a fall?

Lissie waved aside his words. "You are a wonderful artist, Erik," she said. "You work with stone, wood, paints, and all sorts of other things. If it were possible, you could take the place of half the workers in the Opera House."

Suddenly, she looked thoughtful. "I think, if you wanted to, you could actually sell some of your works out in the world. The busts you carve from stone are so lifelike, and your paintings are magnificent and so detailed that anyone with even a touch of artistic taste would buy them. And your music! You could send it to a patron of the arts, or even sneak it to the managers for them to consider. I'm sure you'd find some way to get your compositions out into the world."

The idea excited, angered, and terrified him. Displaying his hard work to the world was Erik's dream, but actually doing it was something else altogether. The world had mocked and abused him in more ways than he could count –did he really want to risk that sort of rejection and pain once more for the sake of his art?

Part of him screamed for him to risk it, to show his work to the world and show them what a Devil's Child could do. He wanted to see the looks on people's faces when they looked at his paintings or heard his music and called for more. And if they wanted to pay him for his efforts, then so be it!

But a more sensible part of him warned of the shunning and violence that could be brought against him, and Erik knew he couldn't go through that again. Well, at least, not alone. If he had someone to stand with him, someone with a full face and the will to fight off a mob in order to protect and save him, he might consider it.

For right now, the sensible part of him was winning.

"Thank you for your kind words," he said, putting aside his music. "But I do not wish a repeat of what happened during my childhood. Now, I have much world to do. Would you mind starting on my meals for the day?"

Lissie clearly wanted to argue, but Erik wouldn't have it. To keep from looking at her, he focused his eyes on a blank sheet of paper, pretending to be starting another operetta. A moment later, her footsteps faded into the kitchen, and Erik could breathe easier. Honestly, was the girl trying to test his patience and temper?

'_On the other hand, who else would have the nerve to boldly say such things to me_?' he wondered.

She certainly deserved his respect for that –like her foster mother, Lissie was both careful and bold with her words, and she wasn't afraid to give him a good talking-to when it counted. He admired her for that.

Shaking his head, Erik set down his pen and rose from his seat. Perhaps it was time to show her the rest of his projects, once she had finished in the kitchen. First, he would show her the ones that were partially finished, but which he'd discarded for fear they weren't good enough to be completed. A few words of encouragement from Lissie might be enough to tell him whether or not they deserved his attentions once more.

* * *

AN: Aw, can you feel the friendship in the air? More fun to be had later! Please review!


	14. The Days Go By So Fast

Disclaimer: I don't own anything _**Phantom of the Opera**_ (though I wish I did). Only original characters belong to me.

AN: Little bit of angry Erik in this chapter, and a small twist, but that's what keeps things interesting. Review, please!

**Chapter 14: The Days Go By So Fast:**

Another old adage that has proved true in my new life is this: time flies by when you're keeping busy.

Between spending time with Erik, working with the ballerinas, and taking care of my sisters and mother, my days flew by in a blur. However, I was not so preoccupied that I didn't (eventually) see what was going on "behind the scenes."

Of course, I'm talking about the singing lessons Erik has been giving my sister, Christine. I had known that it was bound to happen sooner or later, after all, considering that Destiny wanted it to be so. If Christine didn't learn how to sing, she wouldn't meet her soulmate, Raoul, and then things would go downhill from there, leaving me with a very unhappy Destiny.

So, three years after I'd started working for Erik, it didn't come as a real surprise that Christine tended to 'disappear' for rather long periods of time after ballet rehearsals.

* * *

From what I could gather, this little vanishing act had started shortly after I'd begun my housekeeping job. However, I had been so preoccupied with trying to help Erik that I hadn't noticed it –my first priority had been taking care of Erik's home, and trying to slowly make him into a decent man. In the process, I'd forgotten that he was supposed to be teaching Christine how to sing.

My very poor skills in perception finally kicked in about eight months ago. One night, I had come home early from rehearsals in search of Christine, who had foolishly forgotten her dance slippers, and failed to find her anywhere in the apartment. Concerned, I had quickly gone to my mother, who informed me that Christine had developed a new sense of devotion in her life.

"She has decided to go to the Opera chapel and light a candle for her father every night, before dinner," Mama said, a hint of approval in her voice. "She will also say a few prayers on his behalf, and speak to him of what she has been doing."

That had surprised me. Ever since Christine had arrived at the Opera House, she had only lit a candle for her father once a month, and several times during the Christmas season, when she felt particularly needful to 'speak' to him of what she'd done throughout the year. Since when had she become so devout when it came to her soul and that of her father?

The answer hit me after I'd gone to bed that night. In the original storyline, Christine had come under Erik's tutorship while visiting the chapel, where she lit a candle for her father almost every single night. Thanks to my interference in the timeline, Christine had grown up in a warm, supporting, caring family, which had put aside her need to cling to her dead father's memory. It wasn't as though she loved him any less; it just wasn't necessary for her to dwell on the past when she was surrounded by people who loved her.

I suppose I had made a boo-boo when it came to the whole Christine-learning-to-sing thing, because my sister hadn't had a reason to turn to her "Angel of Music" for comfort and support. This, technically, was my fault.

My reason for this was simple: in the original storyline, Madame Giry had been borderline hot-and-cold when it came to raising Christine (from my point of view, anyway). Madame had cared enough to raise the young orphan, and given her a little bit of love once and a while, but her feelings for Christine weren't strong enough to go against the will of the Phantom when it came to him wanting Christine as his bride. Madame would go through hell and back for Meg, her birth daughter, but not for her foster one.

Now, however, Madame Giry was a warm, fiercely protective mother who would fight the Devil himself for all three of her children. My early appearance in her life might have triggered her maternal feelings and possibly enhanced them, thus causing the change in the storyline.

And yet, even though I had been worried about how badly I'd messed up things, it apparently wasn't enough to warrant a visit from Destiny, so things had to be going okay. Plus, history was back on track now; –Christine was taking longer and longer visits to the chapel, which meant longer singing lessons with Erik, so that had to be a good sign.

Of course, me being the inquisitive person that I am, I decided to follow her there one night after rehearsals.

* * *

Alright, I admit it: curiosity was eating at me, and I desperately wanted to see what went on during these singing lessons. I particularly wanted to see if Erik was still trying to pass himself off as the Angel of Music Christine's father had sent to her. If he wasn't, I just had to see how he was handling the situation with his young student.

Obviously, I should have done this sooner, but free time was a luxury I couldn't afford. Between working for Erik in the mornings, and with the ballerinas from noon until far into the evenings, I never had the chance to follow up on Christine's lessons.

And then, wouldn't it figure that Mama would just _happen_ to give me an evening off, just when I needed it? And since the chapel was one of the few places in the Opera House that the workers avoided, it was easy for me to follow her?

Obviously, I suspected that my night off was Destiny's doing, but since I was rarely given an evening to myself, I decided not to question it. Instead, I simply headed home to wait for Christine. Naturally, I wouldn't let her know I was following her, so when she came home after rehearsals, changed, and left with barely a greeting, I was ready.

Normally, following people around is not my kind of thing; that was the effect Erik had on me. I suppose I could have asked Erik himself if he was teaching Christine, but I doubt he would have answered me –or if he did, he probably wouldn't have answered honestly. More than likely, I'd have ended up on the wrong side of his Punjab lasso, and that would be bad for everyone, not just me. Besides, I was doing this for Christine's own good –well, and for mine, too. Trailing my sister was the only way to ensure she married Raoul, and if I messed that up, Destiny would have my head on a platter.

Luckily, at this time of day, everyone was either still working, or eating down in the Opera's large cafeteria, where meals were free to those who wanted it. And since free food was hard to turn down, most took advantage of the offer. This left me plenty of empty hallway to travel and hide in as I secretly trailed Christine.

It didn't take long to reach the chapel, and when I did, I carefully tucked myself into a niche outside the door so as not to be seen. I heard a match being struck, and knew she had lit the candle. A soft voice whispered prayers into the silence, and once she was finished, I heard an echoing male voice call out Christine's name. She breathed a small gasp, and the sound of shifting fabric told me she had been kneeling, but now risen to her feet.

"Angel?" she whispered. "Are you here?"

Well, that answered my question: Erik had gone with the "Angel of Music" persona after all. For some reason, that didn't sit well with me, probably because, at her age, Christine should have grown out of the whole 'imaginary friend' stage. She was fifteen years of age; surely she would have let go of the tale her father had painted for her by now?

Oh, well. So Erik was teaching Christine to sing –that was good. Since things were going to plan, Destiny would not be visiting me anytime soon with complaints, which was also good. The only problem I had was the "Angel of Music" thing, but since that was also in the storyline, I guess that was okay. Christine was probably more mature than she appeared to be, so I decided to let her live out this last little fantasy of hers. It was the only thing connected to her father, so I figured it couldn't hurt to indulge her…at least, for a little while.

"Good evening, Christine," Erik's voice softly echoed throughout the room. "Are you ready for your lesson?"

I stayed as far as the warm-up notes, then left. With three years of lessons under her belt, Christine was coming along pretty well, though she still had a while to go before she could perform in the diva's place. Carlotta had long been in the prima donna position, so things were starting to fall into place.

'_Man, I'd better start preparing_,' I thought, chewing my lip as I headed home. '_If something comes up and I'm not ready, there's going to be heck to pay_!'

* * *

I'd thought that I had prepared myself for anything and everything that could happen, starting with "what if Mama found out about Christine's singing lessons." I had no idea when she'd found out in the film, but it was probably _way_ before the _Hannibal_ performance. I had a story and excuse all rehearsed in the back of my head, just in case.

The other scenario I was "prepared" for was if Erik suddenly revealed his love for Christine. He and I were close friends now, and we talked about almost everything (feminine things aside), so it wouldn't surprise me if, should he still fall for Christine, Erik would tell me and ask for my approval. For this, I was prepared. I was ready with arguments on how she wasn't right for him, etc., and that the right woman would come along and make him happy.

Heck, I was even prepared to give Destiny a few assuring arguments if she ever showed up and lectured me on how I was doing. I figured, if things took a bad turn, I'd at least be able to talk my way out of it and try to get back on her good side.

All of that, I was ready for. What I _wasn't_ prepared for was Mama sending me away from the Opera House.

* * *

At first, I thought something had happened. Perhaps Mama could no longer bear the thought of my being a close friend to Erik, and that she was sending me away to 'protect me.' Or perhaps Erik had said something foolish to her, and that was why I was being sent away.

It was neither one of those things, but rather a far more dull and ordinary thing that had nothing to do with my life at the Opera House.

It seemed that one of Mama's relatives, a cousin named Philippe, had become ill and wanted her to send one of her children to help care for him. He was bedridden and lonely, and hoped that Mama would be kind enough to send him one of her "three lovely daughters."

Skeptical, Mama had sat me down to discuss the matter. As I was the eldest and (Mama was sorry to admit) the most sensible, she wanted to see what I had to say about it first. She admitted that Philippe was one of those family members who had cast her off after she'd joined the Opera House, and had not kept in contact with him since then.

"It is possible that he has changed a great deal since I last saw him," Mama told me, her voice hesitant. "Philippe was a good boy, my favorite cousin actually, but a person can change over a long period of time."

I didn't like it, but it was clear that my mother cared a great deal about this man, and I didn't want to break her heart with my misgivings.

"Perhaps I could go and stay with him for a week or so," I suggested. "If he isn't what he seems, I will return home and you can find a nurse to take care of him."

Mama was pleased with that idea. "That is an excellent thought, Lissie," she said. "Philippe lives in the countryside, about half a day's train ride outside of Paris, so you can easily return. You will leave in two days."

The matter was settled, and we both went to bed feeling content. Well, Mama did, anyway; I on the other hand, had to deal with Destiny, who looked trapped between pleased and angry. I immediately guessed why, and held up my hands to stay off a lecture.

"I know, it's a bad idea to leave Erik, but I don't have a choice," I quickly blurted out. "Meg and Christine don't have the experience to care for the sick, and both have rather weak immune systems. I won't risk either one becoming ill with anything. Plus, none of them have traveled, and they're likely to be nervous wrecks before they've even left Paris."

Destiny sighed and rolled her eyes. "Alright," she sighed. "And I know it's also about family, so don't try and bring that up. The question I have to ask, though, is how are you going to tell Erik about this?"

'_Crap_,' I though as she disappeared. How _was_ I going to tell a semi-violent, bad-tempered man that I have to go away for a long period of time?

I wanted to believe that he'd be understanding about the whole thing, but I'd be deluding myself. Erik would think I was abandoning him, or trying to worm my way out of our friendship, and then things would start getting ugly for a lot of people, starting with me and my family. I'd have to tell him sooner or later, but preferably later, like, right before I left.

Luckily, there was _one_ way to inform Erik. It was somewhat cowardly, as well as ironic and cheeky, but in this case, it was needful.

Sighing, I knew what I had to do. I had to write the Opera Ghost a note.

* * *

"She's gone _where_?" Erik roared, crushing the letter in his hand.

Antoinette sighed and rolled her eyes. "She has gone to take care of my cousin," she calmly retorted. "She will probably be gone for several weeks, maybe even a month or so. I'm sure you can survive without her cooking and cleaning for that long."

Growling, Erik crushed the note even tighter, then forced his fingers to relax. It would probably be Lissie's last communication to him for quite some time, and he would have to keep it in one piece.

It was hard to believe that this morning had started so well. His fingers had managed to compose an entire song in a few hours' time, and a painting that had been unfinished for months now stood drying and complete in a corner of his workroom. Everything had been perfect, until he'd reached for his usual cup of tea and found it missing.

At first, he'd thought that Lissie was running late, and so had continued working on a broken, discarded clock he had found in an Opera garbage bin. It had still been a lovely piece, with a bit of minor damage. No doubt it had been the victim of La Carlotta's temper tantrums. On he worked, assuming that Lissie would appear sooner or later with his tea.

When she did not arrive, Erik thought that perhaps it was Lissie's day off and that he had forgotten. It had happened before, so he had assumed that was the case this time. An hour later, however, he looked at the calendar he kept in his bedroom and it was confirmed; Lissie had not come to see him!

Now, he began lecturing himself in his mind, saying that he should never have let her travel to and from his home on her own. If he had escorted her this morning, he'd have known sooner that she was gone, or even have kept her from going. But no, he had to allow her the freedom to come and go as she wished, because she was his friend and not a pet that had to be escorted to and from the house.

'_Don't be foolish_,' part of him whispered. '_Be honest: you are upset because you've taken her for granted. She has been your companion for years, and you've grown accustomed to having her always with you._'

Damn it, that little voice was right; he had taken Lissie's company for granted, and the old saying was proving true: you don't know how much someone means to you until they are gone. Yes, Lissie had started as merely a cook and housekeeper for him, but now she had become so much more than that. She was his one companion and support in this world, an admirer of his work, and someone he could talk to about anything. She also amused him with her temper and sharp tongue of hers, which he respected and admired.

Now he was here without the warmth and joy of friendship, which he'd hoped would never happen again. Privately, Erik wondered if he could somehow find this cousin and introduce them to his Punjab lasso…

"I'm sure she won't be gone long," Antoinette was saying. "Philippe always was a fast healer."

Erik's head snapped towards her. "Philippe?" he spat. "You sent Lissie to care for a man she doesn't even know?"

Anne rolled her eyes. "He is a sick, bedridden man, just as you were when I brought her down here to care for you. Philippe is family, and he needs help. Lisette offered to go, so I sent her. She promises to write regularly, so if you would like word of how she is…"

To get the man's address was tempting, but Erik knew it would be a bad idea to write to his friend. No one knew of his existence besides Anne and Lissie, and it would harm Lissie's reputation if she began exchanging letters with a man no one knew anything about.

"You will tell me everything she includes in her letters," he growled, green eyes blazing as he glared at her. "I want to know _everything_, and before you think about it, I _will_ know if you leave out _one single detail_."

Anne gave him a studying glance, but nodded. "Very well," she grudgingly replied. "I expect a letter from her within the next two days."

With that, she was gone, leaving Erik alone with his thoughts. However, alone was the last thing he wanted to be. The silence of his house pressed against him, and in order to keep from going mad, he sat down at his organ and began to play, hoping that the music he made would be enough to keep him sane until Lissie's return, and knowing he didn't stand a chance.

* * *

AN: Aw, Erik's missing Lissie! Oh, well, at least we know he appreciates her, at least a little bit. Please be kind and review! Thanks!


	15. The GreenEyed Monster

Disclaimer: I don't own anything _**Phantom of the Opera**_ (though I wish I did). Only original characters belong to me.

AN: This chapter's title sort of has a double meaning. I wonder if anyone can spot it. Well, anyway, I hope everyone enjoys themselves and will review. Things are going to get a bit messy from here on out!

**Chapter 15: The Green-Eyed Monster:**

Stepping out onto the platform, I almost wept with relief. Traveling by train in the 1800's was much different than it would be in a hundred years, and I was never so glad to get off of that thing in my life. It was a miracle that I'd managed to make the journey with only one bathroom break –trust me, using the toilet with several layers of skirts, petticoats, and a corset is no fun.

"Lissie!" cried two cheerful voices, just before I was swept up in a massive group hug.

"Hello, Meg," I said to the blonde head tucked under my chin. "How are you, Christine?" I asked the mass of brown curls leaning against my right ear.

"Meg, Christine, give your sister room to breathe!" Mama gently chided them. "She has been traveling for hours, and is probably tired."

Of course, Mama swept me up in a hug the moment my sisters released me. She didn't say anything, but the tightness of her embrace told of how much she'd missed me. It took all my strength not to cry.

"Come, let us get you home," she said, reaching for my suitcase before leading me down to the street. "There is a wonderful meal waiting for you, and I want to be sure you are well-fed before you tell me everything you didn't mention in your letters."

There certainly were things I hadn't mentioned in my letters home, mostly because I didn't want Erik finding out about them. The last thing I needed was an angry (or worse, jealous) Phantom of the Opera on my case, so I waited until we were safely home and settled down to eat before I started talking.

"So what is Cousin Philippe like?" Meg asked as she passed me my plate.

"Is he kind?" Christine wondered, clearly concerned about me.

"Girls, let her speak," Mama firmly told them. "Go on, Lisette."

First, I told them that our cousin, Philippe Giry, who had been very ill and bedridden, was a true gentleman and far different from what I'd pictured him to be. I had imagined a cold, indifferent, bossy, grumpy old man who would give me the worst tasks imaginable while treating me like a slave.

How wrong I had been. Philippe, as he asked me to call him, was actually very kind, generous, and thoughtful, so much so that I had a hard time picturing him as the sort who would cast off Mama because of her chosen profession. Philippe had explained that to me, however, and I had, in turn, sent his apologies on to Mama in my very first letter.

"My parents did not approve of Antoinette becoming a ballerina, you see," he had said. "They thought she had brought shame to our family, and refused to let me contact her in any way. I wanted to write as soon as they passed away, but feared she would rebuff my efforts. I only dared write her when I knew I needed help with my health."

Even then, Philippe hadn't been sure Mama would actually send him aid. The best he'd hoped for was a polite refusal, and a bit of money to hire a nurse. But we were the only members of the Giry family close to him, and Mama had always had fond memories of her cousin, so she'd decided to send help.

"And he looks nothing like a sick old man, though he was very sick," I told my mother and sisters. "Cousin Philippe is actually a few years younger than you, Mama, and he's rather handsome, too. It's a wonder he never married."

Mama snorted. "He is a confirmed bachelor," she said. "After watching his parents feuding over every little thing, he was determined never to marry."

I shrugged. "Well, he is still one of the kindest men I know. He even offered to pay me for taking care of him!" I looked over at Mother. "No, I didn't accept his money, though he insisted on buying me something to thank me for my work."

Since the meal was done, I went over to my suitcase and opened it, pulling out a beautiful violet dress with black lace trim. My sisters gasped and exclaimed how lucky I was, and Mama scowled in disapproval.

"I would have refused him if I could, Mama," I said, gently draping the gown over a chair. "But he tricked me into it. Philippe had asked me to deliver a note to his tailor, who in turn talked to the town's best seamstress, who came over to the house to fit me for the dress. I could hardly say 'no' when he'd been so insistent on it."

She still didn't like it, but knew it was difficult to refuse a gift so insistently given. Besides, it was a wonderful garment, and since I'd had so few of them in my life, it'd be a shame to return it, especially since I needed a new gown.

"So he is handsome?" Meg asked. "What does he look like?"

"Well, he will never become a star of the stage, but his face is the sort that will stay handsome no matter how old he is," I said, returning to the table. As I sat, Mama passed me a slice of chocolate cake, which I accepted with a broad grin. "His hair is a fair colored brown, almost blonde, and his eyes are a pale, misty blue-grey."

On and on my sisters pressed, the two of them obviously hoping there had been some sort of romance between myself and Philippe. They were immensely disappointed when I firmly told them that there was nothing of the sort going on. Of course, once I began talking of how he would like to someday meet the two of them, they perked up and ate their cake in a much happier mood.

The perfect meal was followed by the warm contented evening we always had as a family. Mama sat knitting in a rocking chair by the stove, while Meg and Christine played a game of checkers. I sat in another rocking chair near my sisters, playing referee in case things turned competitive. Not that it would get that bad, but Mama hated conflict at home, so it was my job to see that any sibling rivalry didn't go too far.

That night, for the first time in weeks, I was able to sleep in my own bed, and curled up under my own sheets. I was in a good mood: I had spent several weeks taking care of a kind older man, and now I was home, full of good food and surrounded by loved ones. Needless to say, I slept very well.

* * *

I woke up feeling content and happy to be home. This contentment lasted only a minute before reality set in, and a voice in my mind asked a question I really didn't want to answer.

'_Should I visit Erik today, or go to ballet rehearsal_?'

Ballet had begun to take second place in my life, while Erik had begun to be top priority. I still spent my afternoons and Saturdays helping Mama, but my time with Erik felt so much more rewarding, not to mention a great deal more intelligent. After a few hours talking with Erik, spending time with the ballerinas was like going from reading Jane Austen to reading a baby book –it was that deflating.

However, the dancers were my friends, too, and I did like having fun with them, so which one would I choose?

'_Well, Mama has been without my help for weeks, and teaching ballet is a lot harder than cooking and cleaning for Erik_,' I reasoned.

Erik might be lonely, but I was sure that one or two more days without me wouldn't kill him. I would visit him in a day or so, and by then, everything should work itself back into place. It would be as though I'd never left.

Happy with my decision, I dressed and went to breakfast. Three glasses of milk, and four of orange juice sat on the table, waiting. The milk was for me and my sisters, while our mother drank coffee (a drink I detested the taste of). In the meantime, Mama had fried up several thick ham slices, a rarity in our home, and roasted potatoes.

"You need to keep your strength up," Mama explained when I gave her a surprised look. "And who knows what my cousin has been feeding you?"

I didn't have the heart to tell her that Cousin Philippe kept a very good kitchen, and that several grocery merchants delivered high quality food to his doorstep every few days. Though he was sickly now, Philippe had worked hard all his life, and was quite wealthy. Plus, he was respected by his neighbors, and was well-liked.

Soon, Meg and Christine joined us, both of them only half-dressed. Soon, the room was filled with the sounds of forks and knives on plates, and the clanking of glasses and china. Meg and Christine kept up a soft chatter that was pleasant to listen to, though I had to occasionally interrupt in order to chastise them for not being ready for the day.

So, when the meal was finished, Meg helped Mama with the dishes while I went to help Christine with her hair. Meg could be ready in minutes, but apparently Christine had begun to take longer getting ready. Mama believed this was due to Christine's mass of curls, and I had to agree. When she'd been younger, her curls had been loose and easy to comb; now they were almost impossible to deal with.

"Honestly, Chrissie, if you would just wake up earlier, you wouldn't have this problem of rushing to get ready in the morning," I said, running a brush through her locks.

She gave me a guilty look in the mirror, but said nothing as I finished helping her dress. Once she and Meg were ready, I escorted them to rehearsals while Mama stayed behind for a moment to put a stew on the stove.

"You need a little while to gossip with your friends," she had said before ushering me out the door. "I will deal with the food for later today."

I was grateful for this, and actually very happy to spend time with the dancers. As they warmed up with their stretches, they told me everything I had missed in my month-long absence.

"Carlotta threw another fit, the first week you were gone," one girl said with a grin as she stretched her legs. "Apparently Piangi had looked a little too closely at one of the new cleaning maids, and that threw her into a rage."

I winced at the lead male singer's name. The dreadful man had always given me the creeps, what with his leering at every attractive girl he saw. He usually did this when Carlotta's back was turned, but sometimes he slipped, and the Opera workers were the ones who paid the price. Cleaning up after a fit thrown by Carlotta was like cleaning up after a natural disaster: it was hard work, with little to no reward afterwards.

'_Unless she manages to throw her silverware or an errant piece of jewelry_,' I thought, shaking my head as another girl gushed about the new stagehands. '_Those are easy to snatch up and keep, and she hardly misses them, since they're always quickly replaced_.'

"And Joseph Buquet was caught trying to get his hands on the daughter of one of the seamstresses," quipped another dancer. "Oh, there was a huge roar about that, and Buquet was told that if he tried to force himself on any other girl, he would be out on his rear!"

Several of the girls giggled while others showed their disgust, including myself. The legendary Joseph Buquet was even worse in real life than he'd been portrayed in the film. The stagehand I had seen in the _**Phantom of the Opera**_ movie was a heck of a lot cleaner and better looking than the one I encountered in the Opera's hallways.

I almost gagged on my memories of him. Buquet in real life had horribly greasy hair, and was missing more than a few teeth. He actually wore wooden dentures on his lower jaw, because he had lost all of his real teeth. He also smelled like a sewer, since he probably never bathed more than once a month, and he had a scraggly beard that sometimes had crumbs or bits of meat stuck in it, left over from his previous meal. And that was just his looks! His manners were even worse, especially since his hands tended to wander whenever a woman was around. Whenever I passed him, I would instantly feel hands on my butt, or on the small of my back. Thankfully, he never went any further than that, but I never hesitated to deliver a slap to his face, or a kick to his kneecap.

'_I'm just lucky that Buquet knows better than to mess with my sisters_,' I thought, looking over at them. '_Mama wouldn't stop with a slap or kick; she'd probably castrate him if he touched them_!'

Me, she didn't have to worry too much about, not when I could defend myself. Meg and Christine were still innocent of most evils, though, and had to be protected.

"What else have I missed?" I asked, smiling as Meg looked my way, beaming happily.

"Oh, there's a new production being planned!" one of the younger girls cried.

"It's absolutely scandalous," gloated one of her comrades. "The ones chosen to dance in this opera will have to wear the most revealing outfits."

I glanced over at Meg, who nodded. "I've seen the sketches for the outfits," she confirmed. "They are incredibly daring, Lissie. I don't know what Mama will do should Christine and I have to dance."

Uh, oh, this didn't sound very good. In fact, it sounded rather familiar. So far, there hadn't been many operas with costumes that showed too much cleavage, or a great deal of a person's body. The only one I could remember was in the film.

"I don't suppose you know the name of this opera?" I slowly drawled out.

Christine nodded. "It's called _Hannibal_."

I nearly swallowed my tongue. So it was time already, was it? Hard to believe time had passed so quickly. Now I was going to have my work cut out for me, especially since I'd be dealing with the elements of the _**Phantom**_ story. Raoul would be arriving at the Opera House soon, no doubt, and then things would start getting interesting. I could only hope that Erik wasn't in love with Christine, because if he was, I would have to convince him otherwise.

Oh, my God, Erik! What was I going to do about Erik? Things were starting to fall into place, and I hadn't found his true love yet! Oh, man, I was in such deep trouble…

"Lissie, are you alright?" Christine asked, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder. "You are so pale! Are you ill?"

I forced a smile onto my face. "No, I think I am merely tired. Perhaps I have come back to work too quickly."

Meg offered to take me home, but I refused. "You need to stay here and practice with the others," I told her. "I can see myself home, and will rest for the rest of the morning. I'll be back after luncheon."

The others wished me well and took their places, standing ready as Mama came into the room, her walking stick in her hand and a scowl on her face. However, seeing my pale condition caused her frown to soften as she dismissed me for home, which I gladly did.

On my way home, I tried to calm my nerves and think clearly. If Destiny wasn't showing up on my doorstep, then things must be going well, especially since, if Erik _were_ in love with Christine, I had no doubt that Destiny would be _very_ pissed off. Since she wasn't here, fuming and ranting at me, things had to be under control.

However, that still left me with the dilemma of Erik's true love, or at least finding a woman who would love him in spite of his flaws. That didn't leave me with much to go on, but maybe I could "call up" Destiny and ask for some help or advice. She might not be able to assist directly, but maybe she could at least point me in the right direction.

Taking a deep breath, I went to take a small nap. Tonight, I would go to the roof, the only place where I could summon Destiny and not get caught. Hopefully, I would get the help I needed, or else I was in deep trouble.

* * *

Erik was so furious, he could see red. As it was, it was taking all his restraint not to barge into the room and demand and explanation from the figure sleeping in the bed.

And why should he not be upset? How dare Lissie come home and not visit him? Granted, he should be more understanding, since it had been ages since she'd seen her family, but did their friendship not count for anything? Had she even thought of him since she'd left?

'_She wrote letters_,' reminded that small voice in the back of his head.

True, but a few notes hardly made up for the warmth of her presence. His house had been eerily quiet and lonely these past weeks, and it was slowly driving him mad.

But her not visiting him was not the worst of it! How dare she praise the sickly Philippe Giry, the one who had taken her from her home, her friends, and her family? How dare she call him handsome, and say how kind he was to her?

'_Have I not been kind to her as well_?' Erik fumed as he headed home.

But then, he was not handsome. Oh, no, he was not, but he had so much more: he had a great deal of money, and the power to manipulate the workers within the Opera House, something not even the managers and patron could do. And since Lissie was a member of the Opera House, he could easily deal with this little infatuation of hers.

But first, there was the newest production to see to. _Hannibal_ it was called, and there was a marvelous female lead that he could easily put Christine into. Carlotta could just as easily be dealt with, and once the diva was out of the way, he could have Antoinette push Christine into the role and thus, into the spotlight where she belonged. With one child as the lead singer, and her precious Meg a soon-to-be prima ballerina, Antoinette would finally be able to retire with an easy heart.

Smirking, Erik slipped deeper underground. He had a great deal of work to do.

* * *

AN: Things are starting to get interesting, aren't they? More fun next chapter, I promise. In the meantime, please be kind and review! Thanks!


	16. Matchmaker for a Ghost

Disclaimer: I own nothing related to _**Phantom of the Opera**_. Only original characters and concepts are mine.

AN: Happy Holidays everyone! I'm posting early this week (and possibly next week, too) because it's Christmas and I plan to relax the entire four-day weekend I've been given from work. I would also like to say that, no matter what religion you are (or aren't, if you're atheist), I wish you much happiness this upcoming year.

Meanwhile, more difficulties for Erik, Lissie, and everyone else in the Opera House. Please let me know what you think by leaving a review! Thanks!

**Chapter 16: Matchmaker for a Ghost:**

That night, I slipped out of my room and into the secret passageway that lay just behind my wall. Erik had shown me several different ways to leave the apartment, in case there was a need for me to (ironically) escape during a fire.

In the years we'd been friends, Erik had also shown me several passages I could travel without being seen, if ever I wanted to use them (though he kept the rest of them a secret). There were only a handful of "escape routes" Erik had told me of, and one of them led to the roof. This is the one I used tonight.

Like the rest of the Populaire, the roof was a work of art. Statues, carvings, and marvelous pedestals ingrained with fanciful designs met the eye of anyone who set foot up top, and best of all, spread out below lay all of Paris, the legendary City of Lights. It was my new favorite place to hide out, a place of quiet and solitude I could escape to whenever the Opera House became too crazed.

But tonight was not about enjoying peace and quiet. This night, the rooftop would provide a safe haven for me while I called on my great and powerful boss, Destiny.

Now, in all the years I'd been in Paris, I'd never "summoned" Destiny before. Usually, she just popped in whenever she thought I needed help, and that was pretty much it. However, given the circumstances, I figured I'd better take the initiative this time.

Clad in a white nightgown, leather slippers, and a light cloak over my shoulders, I stepped out of the secret doorway and onto the roof. The air was slightly warm, but pleasantly so, a sign of summer soon arriving. Cocking my head, I listened to make sure I was alone. No sound met my ears, and I breathed a sigh of relief. No one would see or hear my actions.

Coughing, I closed my eyes and tried to think of what I could say that would get me Destiny's attention. Should I make my words formal and dressy, or straight to the point? She didn't seem like the person who'd like flowery speeches, so I decided to keep it short and simple.

"Uh, Destiny?" I said aloud. "I don't suppose you can hear me, but I really need to talk to you."

A swirl of blue, green, gold and silver glitter appeared in front of me, and a second later, there she was, smiling coyly at me. I couldn't help but envy her for the outfit she wore: a tight, once-piece, blue-green ensemble that could easily have been a man's ballet outfit in the 21st century, if it weren't for the fluttery skirt that hung from her hips. Along the edges of the bodice and skirt were runes stitched in gold, and I could swear the runes were _glowing_. It all went beautifully with her blue-green hair and metallic eyes.

'_Whoa, she looks like something out of a sci-fi movie_,' I thought, looking at her in admiration and wishing I could pull off such a thing.

"Yes, dear?" she said, cocking her head as her arms crossed over her chest. "I'm assuming this is important, since you've never called me before."

I swallowed. "Um, yeah, it kind of is," I timidly replied while staring at her outfit. She'd never worn anything so daring and glamorous in our previous chats.

She smiled. "I know, it's overdone, but I've got a small shindig I have to go to with my sister, so we'd better speed this up. What's going on?"

I blinked at her. "You're going to a party?" Did super-powered beings have parties? I wonder what those are like; the food must be fabulous.

Destiny waved her hand. "Don't worry about it," she said. "They're usually pretty boring, unless someone gets drunk and starts something. Now, what's up? I don't have all night, you know."

Oh, right. Coughing slightly, I innocently mentioned that _Hannibal_ was coming up, and asked if things were going according to her plans.

Much to my relief, Destiny was smiling as she answered, "Things are going just fine, Amelia."

It was strange hearing my old name; I'd been Lissie or Lisette for so long, I'd almost forgotten about my old life in the future. I wasn't sure if I liked being reminded of it. Things here in Paris, in this century, weren't so bad if a person didn't mind the lack of technology.

'_But I'd better get back to things at hand_,' I chided myself. Out loud, I asked, "Would you mind elaborating on that? I mean, do I have anything I have to do or change, maybe?"

Destiny grinned. "No, no, everything's going very well. In fact, if everything keeps flowing just this way, Erik will end up with his lady-love before the end of the year, and after that –well, who knows, since the story's been changed so much."

My stomach clenched with worry. "But, will the story still be written?" I asked nervously. "I mean, to keep the future intact and everything…"

She waved my words aside. "Yes, that'll be taken care of, too, though not by you, Amelia. So, I hope I've answered all your questions, because I'm running a bit late. And no, don't ask if I can be late for something when I can bend time and space, because that's not how it works. Believe me, if I explained the whole space-time continuum thing, and the rules We are and aren't supposed to bend, your head might explode."

I blushed. "Okay. Well, that's _almost_ everything. The thing I wanted to know is who, exactly, is Erik going to fall in love with? I mean, do I have to give them a little help or what?"

"Nope, no helping or anything," Destiny stated, a broad smile on her face. "Everything's going exactly the way it should. Now, I'm off, and if you need me again, don't hesitate to call."

Then, in a swirl of glitter and lights, she was gone.

Staring at the spot where she'd been, I scowled. Instead of being completely relieved, I was frustrated and in need of a few more answers. Who was the woman Erik was meant to be with? Did I know her? Or, most important of all, did Erik know her?

'_Well, I know it's not Christine_,' I thought as I headed down towards home. '_She's meant to marry Raoul_.'

So who did that leave? There were dozens of women, if not a hundred, working in the Populaire, and I didn't know many of them. I'd been so focused on Erik that it never occurred to me to pay attention to the women of the Opera House!

This, sadly, left me with a major problem. Mama didn't want any bad influences hanging around me and my sisters, so my connection to the females of the Populaire was very limited. I knew the seamstresses, but they were older women, all of them happily married with children and grandchildren. None of them were available in any way.

The ballerinas had to be flat out of the question. They were silly, rather self-absorbed, and wanted rich husbands who would provide for them so that they no longer had to work. True, they didn't care what their husband _looked_ like, or how old he was, but I would never burden Erik with one of them. The same could be said about the chorus girls.

I also knew the makeup ladies and hairstylists, but most of them also had men of their own. I was very happy for that, because they tended to be rather snotty and rude, and I couldn't imagine Erik warming up to any of them, or vice versa. I also rather doubted that any of these vain women would want a man with a facial deformity such as Erik's.

The only other women I knew in the Opera House were the cooks, and most of them wouldn't do at all. Some were too old, too grumpy, or already married. Although finding Erik a girl with cooking talents would have been nice, I didn't want to saddle him with someone who would not be kind to him.

'_So that leaves me with nothing_,' I grumbled inside my head.

Slipping into my bedroom, I put my cloak and slippers aside, and tucked myself into bed. My head spun with all of the possibilities that lay before me, and I hated it. There were a lot of single women, but not many of them would suit Erik's personality and lifestyle.

'_Though, after he's got himself a wife, he might want to move out of the Opera's basements and into an actual home_,' I thought, chewing my lower lip.

It wasn't likely, but it could still happen. With all of the money he'd manage to extort from the Opera managers over the years, Erik had a lot of money he could fall back on. He could move into a house in the countryside and settle down to make art. Or he might even move to another country altogether, or even seclude himself in a townhouse right here in Paris.

But for right now, I had to focus on finding this special lady. Someone either the same age as Erik, or a bit younger, but not _too_ young, since Erik probably didn't want a child-bride like the aristocrats did. She had to be smart, or at least have common sense, and would be willing to put up with Erik's temper tantrums (which were presently growing fewer and further between).

'_It would help if she could cook, too, but that's something that could be taught to her_,' I noted, adding that trait to my list.

Okay, so I knew _what_ I was looking for, but not _who_. The list I had inside my head would help a little, but I still needed to actually find the girl herself, and it wasn't as though I could ask Erik if he had a new love in his life. There were only three women he associated with: me, my mother, and Christine. He was definitely not the social type.

'_Oh, man, this is not going to be easy_.'

Groaning, I rolled over and tried to sleep. Things would just have to wait until morning.

* * *

As preparations for _Hannibal_ went underway, I began paying more attention to the women around me. I made notes about them, and mentally dismissed those I thought would be bad for Erik. Once a girl was on the "approved" list, I began making casual inquiries about them, even going so far as to speak with the woman in person.

It should have been difficult finding time to do all of this, considering my housekeeping skills for Erik and ballet rehearsals, but in a stroke of good and bad luck, it wasn't too hard.

After my return to the Opera House, I had received a note from Erik, in which declared that he had much to deal with in regards to the new production, and did not require my services at this time. I was confused and hurt at this change in him, since I had wanted very much to see him again, and wanted to ask if he'd found a "certain someone." However, since I wanted to remain on his good side, I chose to follow Erik's wishes. He would let me know when he wanted me to start visiting again.

In light of this sudden change in my schedule, Mama decided to keep me busy looking after the ballerinas and coordinating the dances for _Hannibal_. Luckily, there was only so much she wanted me to do, and during my free time (which was growing more frequent, as the dancers learned their steps), I spent it looking for candidates for Erik.

The prospects did not look good. Starting with the cleaning women and moving upwards, I couldn't find a single woman who I thought would suit Erik.

I had thought, for a brief moment, that a Cinderella-type thing could happen. For instance, I'd find a nice young girl amongst the horrible, grumpy cleaning women, and introduce her to Erik. There would be an instant connection, and _poof_, that would be it.

Obviously, I was not so lucky. Every single female of the cleaning crews was far too mean-spirited or dull to suit my friend, and I couldn't find a decent-looking one among them. Given that they were all over the age of forty, this was no surprise, but I'd foolishly hoped that the solution to my problem would miraculously appear in the first place I looked. I was seriously disappointed when it didn't.

Moving on up the "food chain," my options alternately got worse and better. I even managed to find a few women in job positions that I had never even considered, which was a large mistake on my part.

Besides the usual crowd that worked behind the stage during performances, I had never even thought about who worked in the upper rooms near the managers' offices, nor of the maids that worked for the prima ballerina and the prima donna. Some of them looked very promising, and a few were even intelligent enough to keep up with Erik's genius.

The maids working for Carlotta and the more senior ballerinas (who were far beyond both my reach and Mama's) were of two classes: old and young.

The older ones were for Carlotta, who wanted maids who were less attractive than she was, and more experienced when it came to dressing her, doing her hair, and tending to her every whim. They also saw to the comforts and pampering of her new pet poodle, a gift from an admirer, and knew when to get out of the way when Carlotta was in a foul mood.

The younger maids served the current prima ballerina and the dancers in her 'circle.' These young women were pretty, could do their jobs moderately well, and were excellent company. I know that many of them spent time gossiping with the ballerinas, and more than a few of them were good-tempered and rather sweet. They might do well for Erik.

But the most promising of all were those who worked near the managers. These women were mostly secretaries, and had good heads on their shoulders. They were kind of on the plain side, but since they were capable of handling agitated visitors, and soothing the nerves of both managers and patrons alike, I thought that a secretary might be the best sort of person who could handle Erik's mood swings. Besides, Erik required a sensible woman in his life, if only to offset his artistic side.

Sadly, none of these ladies fit what I believed Erik would want in a woman. Carlotta's maids were too old for him, and too willing to grovel, mostly in the hopes that a reward would fly their way. The ballerinas' maids could be rather silly and very flirtatious with the stagehands, and so absorbed with spreading gossip that I knew they would be wrong for Erik –worst case scenario: they started revealing Erik's secrets, and then all of my hard work would be for nothing.

The secretaries were out of the question as well. They had no appreciation for the arts, and Erik needed someone who would encourage and support him if he fell into an "artist's block." A secretary would probably make him try practical things with his art, like become an architect or designer for a wealthy patron. Or worse, she might have him give up art altogether, which I knew would break Erik's heart.

So, basically, I was now back to where I'd started. Perhaps I was being too picky, but since this was the Phantom of the Opera I was playing matchmaker for, I had every right to be. Plus, he was my friend, and I wanted him with someone who was right for him. But with the list now at zero prospects, I was stuck.

So here I was, lying on my back on my bed, staring at the dark ceiling above as I nibbled my bottom lip and tried to stay calm. The opening night of _Hannibal_ was several weeks away, so I technically had time to find Erik the right girl.

'_Okay_,' I reasoned with myself. '_Think rationally. Who in the Opera House __**haven't**__ you thought of as a match for Erik_?'

Considering I'd stuck with women in the moderate to higher-ranking jobs of the Populaire, that left the lower rungs of the Opera ladder unaccounted for. However, most of those were women doing jobs no one else wanted to do, and weren't (I'm sorry to say) really that bright, either. That was why I had ruled them out in the first place. I had even met a few of the poor souls, and knew they wouldn't do for Erik; most of them were slow-witted, or barely sane. Small wonder Mama had kept us away from them growing up.

So that left me with…whom? I had counted out every female I had met, knew, or discovered, and now I had nothing. Destiny was _not_ going to be happy with me.

'_Well, she did say that things were going smoothly, so maybe I won't have to do anything at all_,' I thought, trying to stay positive.

Of course, that might just be me, hoping against hope that waiting was the right course of action. If it turned out to be some sort of test, however, and I was actually supposed to do something and didn't, then I'd be toast, literally.

'_But what if she was right, telling me to not worry? What if Erik already has a girl in mind, but didn't tell me_? _What if I force someone on him, and the girl he's got eyes for is pushed aside for the girl I try to hook him up with_?'

Oh, that would not be good. If I did something that upset an event that was already happening, Destiny would be more than pissed off at me. I really didn't like the idea of floating along in some kind of weird parallel dimension as punishment for blowing this whole operation of hers.

I shook my head. '_Okay, time to get back on track_,' I chided myself. '_Women you haven't already thought of for Erik_.'

After a while, it finally hit me that there were three women I hadn't thought of: my mother and sisters.

First, I dismissed Mama from the equation. She was Mama, after all, and Erik held no interest in her whatsoever except for a means to get his way in the Opera House. The thought of my friend and my mother together was enough to make me want to vomit.

My sisters, however, were another story. Christine and Meg were both lovely, sweet young girls with talents in dance or song. Although Christine was meant for dear Raoul, who would be arriving within the next month or two, Meg was still very much available.

I closed my eyes and winced, praying that it wasn't Meg that Erik was meant for. I loved my sister dearly, but I did not think she would be a good match for the Phantom. Like Christine, Meg was too sweet, innocent, and naïve for the likes of Erik –she would not last long in the darkness that was his home.

"Maybe I should ask if it's Meg who's meant for Erik?" I wondered aloud.

"Nope, it's not!" chirped a merry voice in my ear. "Guess again, sweetie."

Startled, but amused, I rolled my eyes. Be careful what you wish for, indeed.

Okay, so it wasn't Meg, or Christine, or anyone else in the Opera House. Could it be that it was someone from outside of it? A lady of titles, looks, or money, perhaps?

I shook my head. When would Erik have had the time to meet a wealthy woman from the outside world? He would never take that chance, anyway, so that option was out.

By now, my head was beginning to hurt. Why did matchmaking have to be so difficult? Well, maybe I'd have a better idea in the morning.

Closing my eyes, I relaxed into the mattress, my head slowly sinking into the soft pillow as I began to drift off to sleep.

* * *

AN: More _Hannibal_ and other familiar story favorites coming up next chapter! Please be kind and review. Thanks!


	17. Let the Opera Begin

Disclaimer: I don't own anything _**Phantom of the Opera**_ (though I wish I did). Only original characters belong to me.

AN: Happy New Year, everybody! I hope that it goes well for all.

Also, this may come as a surprise, but I'm afraid this story will be ending within a few chapters. I'm thinking of doing a sequel, though, so try not to panic. Thanks so much for reading and reviewing; I really appreciate it.

**Chapter 17: Let the Opera Begin:**

As _Hannibal's_ opening night loomed closer, I was on the verge of pulling my hair out in frustration. It wasn't just that I had failed to find Erik the right girl to be with, either -it was the fact that _it_ was actually starting, and by 'it,' I mean the storyline of the film.

Although I had no psychic or magical powers to speak of, I could _feel_ the pressure building beneath the roof of the Opera House. It was as though some sort of huge tidal wave was drawing closer, and I had the distinct feeling that I was the only one who felt it. Maybe it was because I knew what was supposed to happen, but I couldn't be sure of anything now. Erik wasn't the horrible, murderous Phantom that he was in the movie anymore, though he still had a temper. Christine wasn't a vapid, silly girl who did everything her Angel of Music told her to (as far as I knew), and Mama was as protective of her children as a mother bear was of her cubs. Things were different now, but only time would tell how much everything had changed.

Sadly, there was nothing I could do until things actually started rolling. All I could do was stand and watch the start of the legendary_** Phantom of the Opera**_ film, the chaos swirling around me like the center of a hurricane. I had originally planned to observe the entire thing from the sidelines, occasionally sweeping in to interfere when I had to, but apparently Destiny (or rather, Fate) wouldn't have it so.

I was standing onstage with Mama and the dancers the day our beloved manager of the Opera Populaire, Monsieur Lefevre, announced he was retiring. Monsieur Lefevre had been the head of the Opera as far back as I could remember, and had done his best to keep peace between everyone under his employ. He'd even followed the Opera Ghost's demands without throwing a fit, which was certainly saying something.

But most important of all, he had allowed me to become Mama's assistant, thus setting me up for life here in the Opera House. I had never been able to thank him properly, and now it was too late to do so, since he was heading to Australia. I couldn't help but feel guilty about that.

And then came the arrival of the new managers, Monsieur Andre and Monsieur Firmin. I had braced myself for the worst when it came to dealing with of the new managers, since their foolishness had been evident from the moment they were introduced to the Opera staff in the movie. As I faced the actual men, however, they were as much of a disappointment as I'd expected. Even my mother couldn't bear them, and I'd had to contain my laughter when Mama sniffed disdainfully at their backs.

Of course, with the new managers came their patron, Raoul de Chagny. I had always imagined him as a fop, a rich man who knew only his wealth and cared little for others, and because of this, I'd always hated him for what he had done to Erik.

Again, I was proven wrong.

Raoul was actually a sweet, kind man, and I could see why Christine would prefer him to Erik. Raoul was polite to everyone, even Carlotta, and that said a lot about the man. He even nodded politely to me, though he failed to notice Christine amongst the ballerinas. I could see how crushed my sister was by this, so I silently vowed to have a talk with her later. No doubt the torch she carried for him still burned, and I'd have to fan the flame to keep her interested in him. Why did I have to end up the matchmaker for everyone?

"Lisette, pay attention!" Mama snapped quietly in my ear. "We have work to do!"

Standing straight and holding the walking staff in my hand, I followed her out onto the stage as the dancers took their places. "We take particular pride in our ballet, Monsieur," Mama was saying as she showed the new managers about.

"I can see why," Monsieur Andre said, "especially that blonde angel."

I clenched my walking staff as Mama replied, "My daughter, Meg Giry. This is my eldest, Lisette." She gestured towards me, prompting the men to nod respectfully at me. I returned their nods with one of my own as Mama continued. "My other daughter, Christine Daae, dances there."

"Daae?" Monsieur Firmin said, intrigued. "As in the famous violinist?"

My mother nodded. "His only child," she said. "I brought her here as a child and raised her as my own."

I could see them glancing over at me, and decided to save them the trouble of asking more questions. "I was but a baby when I was abandoned on the steps of the Populaire, many years ago," I explained in a calm tone. "Madame Giry was kind enough to take me in and raise me as her child."

The men nodded, and proceeded to ogle the dancers and admire the production for several moments, apparently thrilled with what they saw. When the scene came to an end and Carlotta began her dramatic complaints, followed by the managers' groveling and the start of the infamous aria, I raised my eyes towards the ceiling, hoping I could get a glimpse of Erik. Of course, being the Ghost that he was, I never saw him loosen the backdrop that soon came down upon Carlotta's head, causing her to shriek in anger and fear as she fell to the stage.

As the diva promptly began her tirade against the managers, both old and new, I could swear that I almost heard everything falling into place. In the back of my mind, it felt like stacks of blocks were neatly lining up on top of one another, forming the perfect wall. A small part of me began to panic as I remembered that Erik hadn't found love just yet, and I had the feeling that there wasn't much time to do what Destiny had assigned me.

A hand on my arm brought my attention towards Meg and Christine, both of whom looked terrified by what had just happened. As I tried to comfort them, I saw Mama slip backstage, a look of worry on her face as she vanished behind a curtain. I knew she would soon find an envelope addressed to the managers, and would read them the contents. After that, the rest would be history.

In the meantime, however, I had several jobs to do, none of which would be accomplished by standing around the stage. So, while the rest of the scene unfolded on the stage, I went to find the costume mistresses. They had to know that a few changes had been made to the program this evening, namely in the roll of the diva.

* * *

For the remaining hours before the opening performance, I found myself more frustrated and nervy than I had ever been before. Everyone, including my mother and sisters, noticed it, and it alarmed Mama more than anything.

"You have never been so moody on an opening night, my dear," she said, pressing a hand to my forehead as we ran through a final rehearsal. "Are you feeling well?"

I was quite well, thank you, except for the fact that Destiny was probably going to blow me to pieces for failing her. But I could hardly tell my mother that, and instead forced a smile while reassuring her that I was merely tired. After all that had happened today, it was no wonder, and so I was believed without question.

Actually, I _was_ tired, but not physically. Emotionally, I was worn to the bone, and all because of today's events, with one thing leading to another. Needless to say, I had a lot on my plate to deal with.

First, there were the dancers. Each and every one of them (including those with love interests) was completely moon-eyed for the new managers or the Vicompt, and it took a lot of threats from Mama to make the girls pay attention to their dancing. However, they were sly enough to use their rather revealing costumes to their full advantage, causing the managers to look over at them whenever possible.

Luckily, those interested in Raoul knew that the Vicompt was beyond their reach. Yes, Raoul was young and handsome, while the managers were not, but because he was of the aristocracy, the girls wisely decided to keep their eyes focused on the managers and their fortunes instead. Still, that didn't stop the girls from preparing for tonight, particularly when they knew the Vicompt would be attending the show.

Meanwhile, as Mama was worried about me, she was also worried about what the Phantom (aka: Erik) would do in regards to Christine. This meant that I was concerned about this, too.

In all the time that Erik had been teaching my younger sister, I still had no idea if he'd fallen in love with Christine or not. Oh, I knew that Christine and Raoul were soul mates, but that wouldn't be enough to stop a certain Angel of Music from falling for his charge. I _believed_ that I had changed Erik for the better, but what if he still wanted Christine for a bride? After all, Christine was young, sweet, and lovely –the only reason she currently had no suitors was because Mama was picky, and any man Mama didn't like would suffer her wrath if they tried anything with her daughters.

Of course, there was the fact that Christine had a wonderful singing voice. Erik was an artist, and perfecting lovely things was his nature; it was no wonder he wanted to take Christine's imperfect voice and make it into one worthy of a prima donna.

Well, it was too late to do anything about it now. The final costumes were being done up, the last touches of makeup were being painted on, and the dancers were stretching their muscles, keeping them limber for the performance. It was time for things to happen, and clean up any mistakes I'd made.

Taking a deep breath to calm myself, I watched Christine take her place on stage and felt a twinge of envy. She looked beautiful in her costume and makeup, her beauty captivating everyone's attention. Then she opened her mouth and began to sing.

Sighing, I looked at my own drab gown and winced. I knew I wasn't beautiful (at least, not by the Opera's standards), nor talented in singing, or dancing, or painting. I was barely skilled enough to be the assistant to the ballet mistress, and that was only because I was her daughter!

'_I suppose that means I have no real future in the Opera House_,' I thought with a sigh.

I began thinking about what life would be like if I decided to remain here and not go back to my previous life. If I couldn't do anything useful in the Populaire, then it only made sense that I would have to find employment elsewhere. If (or when) Mama passed away or retired, I wouldn't be able to keep my position for very long, since a brand new ballet mistress would have to be found, and I doubted that she would be as tolerant and hospitable as my mother was.

It hadn't hit me until now what life would be like after this whole thing ended. Once Christine ran off with Raoul, and Erik ended up with whoever he's supposed to be with, where did that leave me? Alone and possibly unemployed, that's what. Meg would no doubt become the prima ballerina and have a glorious career of her own while I helped Mama until her retirement. Worst of all, Erik would be far too busy with his new love to pay attention to me, and that thought nearly broke my heart.

Once my mission was complete, and everything was as Destiny wanted it to be, I think the one thing I'd miss most was being with Erik. He and I talked about so many things, and I liked spending time with him as he created his artwork or played his music. I never caught him writing his notes for the managers and patron, but I did see him play his pranks on the workers, which I sometimes found funny. That was probably mean of me, but I couldn't help it.

But most important of all, Erik was the one man in the Populaire who was always kind to me. True, he did lose his temper with me once and a while, but no one was perfect. He treated me with respect, too, which was hard to come by in the Opera House, and he was _very_ pleasant to look at, though he'd never allow me to say so. We never talked about his appearance; it was his one reminder that he wasn't like "everyone else." However, I did appreciate the green hue of his eyes and the lushness of his black hair. And he was tall, something I liked in a man. I always did like tall men.

Alright, I admit it: I had 'fancy' for the Phantom of the Opera. How could I not, when he was sweet, generous, respectful, and gentlemanly whenever we saw each other? He even teased me, once and a while, if I accidentally made the same dish twice in the same week, or if I put too much sugar in his teacup, claiming I was trying to "sweeten him up" by feeding him too much sugar. I liked a man who could make me laugh.

I sighed. Now Erik would be with someone else, a girl who could love him and make him happy by accepting him for who he was, in spite of his appearance. She would be the one to cook him meals, spend time with him, and enjoy the wonders he could craft with his own two hands.

Applause from the audience brought me back to the world around me. Glancing around the stage, I saw Christine practically glowing with happiness as the audience gave her a standing ovation. From where I stood, I could see Box 5, previously occupied by Raoul de Chagny, but which now stood empty. The Vicompt was probably racing to the diva's dressing room, eager to get a glimpse of Christine. I knew that I had to get there quickly, if I were to prevent any 'unscheduled visits' by the Angel of Music on my sister.

'_I'll miss that about him, too_,' I thought, biting my lip as I raced down the hallways.

Though most girls in the Opera dreaded the Ghost popping up unexpectedly, I rather enjoyed it. It kept me on my toes, and we both had a good laugh about it after he scared the crap out of me. I would miss the thrill that went through me whenever I saw him appear and disappear in the shadows of my room, or out of a hallway whenever I was alone.

The realization that followed stopped me in my tracks. As I stood there in the hall, staring at the walls, I had to acknowledge what my heart had been trying to tell me, but which I'd been too distracted to actually hear.

I was in love with Erik.

'_Oh, no, this is __**not**__ happening_,' I thought, wide-eyed as I struggled to walk towards my destination. '_I can't be in love with him_!'

This was a very bad thing, and I was lucky that Destiny wasn't striking me down right now for even having these thoughts. Maybe if I talked fast and promised to not mess things up, she wouldn't.

'_But I can't love Erik_,' I told myself. '_It's probably just a crush, that's all. Yes, it's just a crush on a tall, dark, handsome man who treats me nicely, even respectfully_.' And he was also an artistic genius, not to mention the mysterious Phantom of the Opera.

Oh, man, I was in so much trouble. Why did I have to go and develop feelings for the one man I couldn't have? Or maybe that was the point of my wanting him: that Erik was off-limits made him "forbidden fruit," and that I'd have to resist him in order to carry out Destiny's assignment.

'_Kind of like how, in the fairy tale, the hero or heroine has to overcome a huge challenge before they can have a happy ending_,' I deduced.

Well, if that was the case, I'd resist these feelings as best I could. Besides, it wasn't as if Erik felt the same way about _me_! Lord knows I had nothing to offer him: no money, no real skills in dance, song, or art, and I was definitely not a beauty. Basically, I had nothing except a relatively decent job and cooking skills. Not the ideal qualities in a partner for the Phantom.

Arriving at the diva's rooms, I immediately looked around to see if I was alone before slipping inside, shutting the door firmly behind me. I had to get everything ready for Christine.

* * *

Christine arrived an hour later, trailed by Mama and Meg. My sisters looked exhausted, and my mother looked just as drained.

"A long day indeed," Mama remarked as Meg and I began removing the expensive crystal-jewel hairclips from Christine's hair. "You all are in need of your rest."

Alas, I knew it was not to be, particularly with the amount of knocking going on at the door. I heard men calling to be let in so they could get a glimpse of the new diva, the men so loud Mama had to go and shoo them off. Meg and I had barely finished with the clips when an authoritative knock caught our attention, including Mama's. She answered it and let the gentleman in, causing Christine to gasp and Meg to squeak in surprise.

"Monsieur Vicompt," I calmly said with a slight curtsey. "How may be help you?"

He gave me a pleasant smile and polite nod, earning him my approval. More often than not, the aristocracy snubbed or lashed out at the "lower classes;" that Raoul had been polite to me showed his good heart and judgment.

"I am here to renew an old acquaintance," he said, looking at Christine, handing her the bouquet he'd been holding. "Little Lottie, how could I not know you?"

My sister blushed and accepted the flowers. "Thank you, Raoul," she murmured, smiling shyly.

"Madame Giry," the Vicompt addressed Mama. "I understand she is in your charge?" Mama nodded. "Then may I have your permission to take her to dinner this evening? I promise not to keep her too late, so that she may be able to sing tomorrow night."

I saw that she was ready to refuse him, and knew I had to intervene. "Oh, how wonderful!" I chimed in. "That is very kind of you, Monsieur."

Mama glared at me, but I ignored her, instead turning towards Meg. "Meg, go fetch Christine's best gown, will you? And her new ribbons as well."

Meg could see that I was playing matchmaker, and was eager to help, in spite of our risking Mama's wrath. She flew out of the room, leaving me to usher the Vicompt out the door so that we could prepare his date. When he was gone, Mama pulled me aside while Christine put her flowers in water.

"Lisette, what do you think you're _doing_?" she hissed.

"Giving Christine a chance at a life filled with love, comfort and happiness," I calmly replied, keeping my voice low. "Don't you want that for her? The Vicompt seems like a good, kind man, and he is clearly interested in her. Why not let them go out for dinner? If things change for the worst, she is no worse off."

Not that things would change for the worst; not if I had anything to say about it.

Mama made to argue, but fortunately, Meg chose that moment to arrive, Christine's gown and ribbons in hand. The three of us immediately swept our little song bird up, dressed and primped her, and sent her off with the Vicompt. Once she was out of sight, Mama turned towards me.

"I hope you are right about this," she grumbled. "I _will not_ have her heart broken because you want to play matchmaker."

As she walked away, I couldn't help but smile. When it came to Christine and Raoul, I knew it was a match made in heaven.

If only it were this easy for Erik...

A jaw-breaking yawn broke my thoughts, the day's events seriously catching up with me. Everything could wait until morning, when I was well-rested. Heading towards home, visions of my warm bed filled my head. Hopefully, Destiny would let me rest and spare any lectures for another day, because I could hardly wait to get some sleep.

* * *

AN: The story's almost over! A sequel is in my mind, so no worries. Thanks for reading, and please review!


	18. Late Night Visitations

Disclaimer: I don't own anything _**Phantom of the Opera**_ (though I wish I did). Only original characters belong to me.

AN: Almost done; just one more chapter and an epilogue! Please review!

**Chapter 18: Late Night Visitations:**

Yawning, I collapsed into the chair before my vanity, thinking that it wasn't _too_ bad a night, considering all the effort I'd put into it. Christine was on a date with Raoul, which would, no doubt, lead to them being together, which was their destiny. Meg was out with Mama, rounding up the ballerinas before they could get too drunk and not be able to dance tomorrow. Mama always wanted her dancers fresh and able in the morning, no matter what, and heading off huge hangovers was part of this effort.

In the meantime, I intended to savor the peace and quiet. Here in the Giry household, there was silence while the rest of the Opera House would be full of partiers: the audience members would be attending the large soirée in the large entryway by the grand staircase, while the Opera employees threw their own gatherings all over the back rooms and hallways.

I, on the other hand, had simply changed into my nightgown and robe, fully prepared to put my feet up and relax before heading off to bed. Reaching for my hairbrush, I looked in the mirror and almost screamed at what was reflected back at me. My fingers clutching the wooden handle of the brush, I turned, ready to throw it at the large shadow behind me, when it chuckled.

Huffing, I angrily slapped my brush down and glared. "Erik, _what_ do you think you're doing?" I snapped. "You scared me half to death!"

As he stepped out of the shadows, I almost swallowed my tongue. Clad in his best Phantom regalia, it was hard keeping my jaw from dropping at the tall, dark, mysterious figure he made. He was also smirking, which nearly made my heart jump into my throat.

"Forgive me, Lissie," he said with a bow. "But I thought you might join me for some hot chocolate this evening, before you retire. It has been weeks since we have seen one another, and I would like to talk with you as we did before your…departure."

Guilt sank into my stomach at that point. I should have gone to see him, but between his orders for me _not_ to visit him, and my missions from Destiny (i.e.: keeping things on track and finding Erik's true love), I'd barely had time to breathe, let alone visit him.

'_Plus, you didn't want to see him until you'd sorted out your feelings towards him_,' whispered a voice in the back of my head.

My heart fell to the floor. Yeah, there was that, too. I still had no idea how I was going to deal with these emotions, but in the end, it'd have to be done.

'_But first of all, he can't know how I felt about him_,' I firmly told myself. '_It can't be allowed to happen_.' I had to stay focused on Destiny's assignment.

So should I refuse his invitation? That would probably be best, but I doubted that he'd accept it. If Erik wanted me to go with him, it was best not argue.

"Alright," I said, slowly rising from my chair.

Out of nowhere, he produced a black cloak, the material so dark and lush it both absorbed light and shone with it. "Put this on," Erik softly ordered me. "It is cold down below at night."

Nodding, I took the cloak and donned it, the soft material sliding over my fingers as I fastened the clasp at my throat. I had no idea what it was made of, but it was warm, and that was what mattered.

"Come," Erik commanded, opening the secret passageway and holding a hand out to me.

Without hesitating, I put my fingers in his palm and followed him into the dark cavern. He paused a moment to let me by, and as I brushed past him through the narrow doorway, I looked up to thank him. My breath caught at that moment, for as he stood, head slightly bowed, our faces were close, almost to the point where our lips could touch if I stood but a few inches taller.

Blushing, I quietly thanked him for holding the door open, and waited in the still darkness as he shut the doorway and lit a lantern. When we had enough light to see by, Erik took my hand in his and began leading me down the winding passages, ignoring the coolness of the air. I never understood why he never tried to install or create a more efficient means of lighting the caves, but I suppose it had something to do with keeping his images as the Opera Ghost.

'_After all, ghosts don't need gas or oil lamps to see where they're going_,' I thought, swallowing a giggle.

It didn't take us long to reach the boat, floating quietly in the water with a single lamp already dangling at the front. Erik blew out and deposited his own lantern in a niche in the wall before reaching for my hand.

"Mademoiselle," Erik said with a bow as he gently handed me into the gondola.

I smiled my thanks and sat quickly. The boat swayed as Erik took his place and began to row, humming softly as he worked.

Slowly, I began to relax. The day had begun to take its toll on me, and Erik's voice was soothing to my ears. The air was cool, but not cold, and the cloak kept off the worst of it, leaving me very comfortable. Plus, the promise of hot chocolate was enough to make me feel quite happy and excited.

We arrived at the house by the lake in no time, the immense iron gate rising slowly so that we may pass under it. The candles had already been lit, warming the air and filling it with wavering golden light. There was something sweet hanging in the air that I could not identify, but which I found soothing to the senses.

The moment the gondola brushed up against the shore, Erik was out like a shot, hurrying to secure it so that he could help me out. I gave him a smile and my thanks, and walked over to my little red couch, the one I always sat on whenever I spent time here.

"Wait here," he told me. "I'll fetch the chocolate." Then he was gone, and I could hear the clanking of dishes and utensils as my host moved about the kitchen.

As I settled down onto the couch, I began wondering why Erik had donned his full Phantom outfit, and why he hadn't bothered to take off even his cape while we were here, but pushed those thoughts aside. After all, he could be rather eccentric at times, so it really shouldn't surprise me if he did things out of the ordinary.

"Here you are."

I turned to see Erik approaching with a silver tray in his hands, a china tea pot and two cups resting on top of it. There was also a small plate with vanilla cookies, no doubt snatched from the Opera kitchens earlier today. I had to smother a laugh as a funny image of Erik being caught with his hand in the cookie jar flashed in my head.

Reaching for the tea pot, I made to pour out some of the delectable liquid, only to be stopped by Erik's firm, but gentle grip.

"Allow me," he said, releasing my hands.

Confused, I pulled back. He had never poured anything for me before…

"You look tired, and I would not want you destroying my precious chinaware by dropping it," Erik teased, a small smile on his face.

Oh, well, that explained it. I did tend to be rather clumsy when I was tired, and Erik knew it. I had broken several precious plates, cups, and saucers during my days here in his home, so it'd figure that he wouldn't want to replace more anytime soon.

The chocolate smelled heavenly as it was poured into the delicate white porcelain cups. The cups were plain, no decoration, just as Erik liked them. He hated having other people's work in his home, so the dishware remained undecorated until he decorated them himself. Porcelain and china, however, were beyond him (for now, anyway), so they remained plain.

Taking up the cup, I savored the first sip. Mama wouldn't allow us to have hot chocolate at home; she worried that it would make my sisters overindulge their sweet tooth. Thus, I savored it whenever Erik let me make some from his stores.

I finished the first cup and let Erik pour me a second as I nibbled my way through a cookie, the sweet vanilla swirling harmoniously with the chocolate that lingered in my mouth. I happily accepted the cup back from Erik, the brown liquid sending up a deliciously-scented curl of steam. I was halfway through the chocolate when I began feeling tired.

* * *

He saw her eyes growing heavy with sleep and rescued the delicate china from her fingers, just as a yawn escaped her lips. Lissie looked so sweet and vulnerable when she yawned.

'_Very unlike the strong-willed, snappish young woman she is when she's fully aware_,' Erik thought, hiding a grin. He liked it when she challenged him with her temper; it was nice to have an intelligent person confront him and keep him in check. It was also fun watching her facial expressions change along with her mood.

He bit back a sigh. Good Lord, how he'd missed seeing her! His house had been so cold and empty in her absence, even going so far as to fill it with music to fight the silence. In his loneliness, Erik had managed to complete numerous projects, most of which he'd tossed aside months or even years ago, never intending to finish them.

'_It's amazing what boredom can motivate a man to do_.'

Antoinette had done her best to keep him calm and happy (and away from her other daughters, though she'd failed in that aspect, in certain ways). She'd brought him pastries or sweets she'd purchased in Paris, and occasionally came extra early in the morning to put on a pot of soup for him to have for his dinner. Of course, how was she to know that he had long since learned to cook for himself, thanks to his discreet spying on his pretty chef over the years? Not even Lissie knew he could cook.

'_If she did, she would probably never come and visit me again_.'

When Lissie had returned from the countryside, Erik had fully expected her to come and see him, most likely after spending some time with her family. He had watched her closely, searching for a sign that she would be coming to visit. He had even tried to clean up his home for her, in the hopes that it would impress her.

Instead, he had gone upstairs to check on her, and heard her singing praises for Philippe Giry, Antoinette's sickly cousin! It had sent a rage burning through his blood, and in that anger, he'd nearly barged in and yelled at her, demanding that she forget the other man with the perfect face and concentrate on things here at the Opera House. And when she'd chosen to visit the ballerinas instead of him, that had been the last straw.

In an effort to turn his anger and hurt feelings elsewhere, and to make sure he didn't cause any sort of physical or emotional hurt to Lissie in the process, Erik decided to focus on certain 'projects' that needed his attention; namely the upcoming production of _Hannibal,_ and his idea on making Christine the new diva it's opening night.

Once he had slipped Lissie a note, saying that her cooking and cleaning skills would not be needed for some time, Erik had let his work consume him. It took a great deal of effort to make things happen in the Opera Populaire, especially when it concerned getting rid of Carlotta, and all of his concentration was needed on many things to make it all run smoothly.

First, he'd needed to make Christine's voice perfect for the stage. His little protégée had been coming along quite nicely over the years, but he'd been forced to push her hard to refine it. It had taken weeks of hard work, but he had done it. After many years of practice, Christine was ready to make her debut. The difficult part was making sure she caught the attention of the Opera manager.

Then Erik discovered that Monsieur Lefevre was leaving, and he'd been forced to improvise. First, he'd spied on Monsieur Lefevre's private conversations with the new managers, and was disgusted with how little they knew of the arts of music and opera. The only good thing about them was their patron, who was a vicompt, no less, so there would be no lack of sufficient funds.

Erik decided that a nicely planned 'accident' involving Carlotta would send her into a rage and out of the performance. This would followed by a well-placed note (to be found by Antoinette), and that would no doubt put Christine right in the spotlight as the diva. Fortunately, Anne had never suspected that Christine's visits to the chapel were anything but what they appeared. But once the note arrived with a brief explanation, Erik was sure she would see things his way.

He'd been right. Carlotta had been furious with his little prank, and though he'd seen the look of anger and fear on Antoinette's face as she'd read his note, she had done what any mother in her place would have done: take advantage of the situation and further her daughter's career in the opera house.

The production had been perfect, as had Christine's voice. Erik had been proud of his efforts as a first-time singing instructor, and with his little student in the roll of prima donna, he was feeling quite satisfied with himself.

But he couldn't allow himself any leisure. There had still been the second part of his plan to fulfill.

* * *

Ever since Lissie's return, he had spent much of his free time (when he had it) watching her closely. She seemed to be burdened with something, her mind always so focused that it sometimes worried him. What could have the dear girl look so determined and uneasy?

It took a while, but eventually Erik managed to see what it was Lissie was doing: she was trying to play matchmaker for someone.

He'd learned this after seeing her take an unusual interest in the women working within the Opera House. After she'd speak with a few of them, or observe them, Lissie would get a thoughtful look on her face, right before she shook her head and went off to find another group of ladies to scrutinize. It looked as though she were taking notes on each of these females in the back of her mind, only to find them lacking.

Her behavior both puzzled and angered him. Who could she be playing matchmaker for? He knew Lissie had never been friends with many men in the Populaire, and presently, she despised each and every male working in the Opera House, so who did that leave?

'_Me_,' Erik thought, biting back a growl as Lissie began to rub her tired eyes.

At first, he didn't know whether to be flattered or furious. Erik supposed that Lissie didn't want him to always be lonely, and so she'd set out to find a wife for him. It was sweet, but there was only one woman in the world for him.

'_And she is a marvelous woman, indeed_.' Smiling, he set the cup and saucer on the table and watched as Lissie yawned again.

"Oh, goodness," she sighed. "I suppose I'd better get upstairs to bed. The day must be catching up with me."

Erik didn't have the heart to tell her otherwise.

* * *

Yawning, I knew I had to get home. Whenever I was this tired, I needed to get some sleep as soon as possible. It would look very bad if I spent the night on the Phantom's couch! My reputation would be ruined forever, and so would Meg's and Christine's.

"Could you take me home, Erik?" I asked, slowly rising to my feet.

I stumbled a bit, but Erik managed to catch my arms, and it was then that I noticed he'd gotten to his feet, too. How weird; I was usually aware of stuff like that.

For some reason, my eyes drifted down towards the little table that stood before the couch, and something caught my eye. My half-empty cup sat there, but beside it was a full one. Had Erik finished his first cup just as I did?

'_No, that couldn't be it. I hadn't noticed him drink any at all_.'

Looking closer, I noticed that the chocolate had begun to form a skin on the top, indicating that it was quite cool, and growing colder. Erik had not touched a drop of the liquid.

'_But why_?' I wondered, looking up at him.

The answer slowly came to me: I had been drugged.

Those wonderful green eyes stared down at me, gentle and smiling, though his face remained expressionless. What remained of my conscious brain was alarmed, wondering what he was doing and for what purpose.

'_Does it have something to do with Christine_? _Perhaps he doesn't want me to interfere with whatever plan he has in store for her_?'

Yes, that made sense. But why put me to sleep? Drugs didn't last long, a few hours at most, so what could he gain or do in that time?

Strong arms slid around my waist, pulling me closer to him. "It's alright, my angel," Erik whispered into my ear. "Go to sleep. All will be clear when you wake."

As if I had a choice in the matter. My eyes grew heavier with each moment, and now, I could barely stand. The warmth of Erik's body was comforting, and the drug had such a firm hold on me that I was powerless to resist.

Finally, I closed my eyes and relaxed, falling into sleep.

* * *

AN: Naughty Erik, drugging Lissie like that! Don't worry, I promise explanations in the next chapter. Thanks for reading, and please review!


	19. A Memorable Train Ride

Disclaimer: I own nothing related to _**Phantom of the Opera**_. Only original characters and concepts are mine.

AN: Here it is; the last chapter of the story. The sequel is brewing in the back of my brain, and should be up in a couple weeks. I'll post my progress on my profile, so if there are any sorts of delays, that would be the place to go for updates. My thanks to everyone for reading, and for sticking with this odd tale of mine. I very much appreciate it. Have fun reading, and please review! Thanks!

**Chapter 19: A Memorable Train Ride:**

I woke to the feeling of something warm on my face and a bright light in my eyes. Murmuring a complaint, I rolled away from the annoying ray of sunlight and was just settling back into my mattress when I realized something vitally important.

There was no window in my bedroom. So where was the light coming from?

I also had the odd sensation of being rocked back and forth, which made no sense to me –rooms didn't rock, unless there was an earthquake. But the swaying motion of the room was too constant and soothing to be an earthquake, so what was it?

Opening my eyes, I found myself staring at an elegantly decorated space about the size of my bedroom. The walls were dark wood, the floor covered in soft red carpet, and there were several pieces of lovely furniture along the walls and in the corners. On both sides of the bed were tables, one empty, the other with a pretty lamp (unlit). To my left was a window covered with a fine lace curtain, which explained the sunlight in my eyes. However, it was what was outside the window that made me gasp.

Trees and countryside flew by as I watched, swaying with the motion of the train. I knew it was a train I was on, because I'd ridden on one before and the feeling was unmistakable. But how did I get here?

"Erik," I muttered, scowling as beautiful scenery went by.

He'd drugged me! How could he do that to me? _Why_ would he do this to me? It didn't make any sense!

'_Oh, when I get my hands on him, he's going to have __**a lot**__ of explaining to do_!'

That is, if he was even here. I wouldn't put it past him to drop me off on a train like a piece of baggage, then pay the staff to make sure I arrived safely at my destination –wherever that is.

'_Am I even in France anymore_?' I wondered, staring out the window. '_How long have I been out_?'

Those were all very good questions, but I couldn't be sure of the answers. There was a clock directly across from me, on a fine wood dresser, and it read eight o'clock in the morning. I'd either been out for eight hours, or a few days longer than that. Either way, I was very far from Paris.

'_Mama is __**not**__ going to be happy about this_.' No, she was going to be frantic with worry, possibly even going to the French equivalent of the police force in order to find me and bring me home.

Looking down, I saw I was still in my nightgown, which made me blush. Erik had seen me in this state of undress before, but even then I'd been wearing something over it. I distinctly remembered putting on a cloak against the cold, but I had no idea where it was now.

'_But the question is: how on earth did Erik get me on the train when I look like this_?'

Yet another thing I would have to ask him. In the meantime, I didn't like the idea that I was lying in a strange bed, on a train, in my nightgown, not to mention the fact that I'd been drugged by someone I trusted. I was _not_ a happy camper.

Hearing footsteps outside the door, I froze. I had no idea who was there, possibly someone hired to make sure I was delivered to my unknown location in safety. This would be my jailer or "keeper," as it were, and even if I wanted to escape, it would be suicide to jump from a train moving as fast as this one was. Such a daring jump might look cool on television or in the movies, but in real life, I wouldn't try it unless I absolutely had to.

'_Maybe I can knock them out_?' I mused as the lock was undone. '_That could work_.'

It would figure that the person who entered the room was not who I expected.

* * *

Never had he seen Lissie look so surprised. Her lips parted in shock as her dark brown eyes widened, her gaze never leaving him as he entered her room. She was simply adorable, one stray lock of dark hair hanging by the side of her face as the rest fell along her back.

"Good morning," he said, setting her covered breakfast tray on the empty bedside table. "I trust you slept well."

Her eyes narrowed, mouth snapping shut as she glared at him. "Tolerably, considering it was a drugged sleep."

Erik did his best not to smile fondly at her. "It was necessary. But now that you are awake, perhaps you would like some breakfast?"

Now she was scowling at him. "What I would _like_ is to know why you drugged me, kidnapped me, and are dragging me to who-knows-where!"

Oh, how he loved it when she gave him that look of hers! No one else dared to get so angry and frustrated with him, not even Antoinette, and he liked it. Too many simpered and quivered in fear whenever they talked of him; others did as he bid because of their fear.

But not Lissie; she only acted out towards him whenever it was justified. She snapped, lectured, yelled (rarely), and sometimes slapped his arm or shoulder to get him to pay attention to her. It was amusing watching her facial expressions and reactions, and those same reactions made him grow fonder of her. Lisette Giry was not afraid of the Opera Ghost, or the Phantom. She only knew Erik as a man, and though she was cautious of his tempers, she wasn't afraid to confront him when necessary. It warmed him, knowing that.

"Eat first, then I will answer your questions," he offered. "We will not be reaching our destination for several days, and you need to eat."

Lissie crossed her arms over her chest, that stubborn look growing even more so by the moment. "After what happened last night with the chocolate, I'd rather not, thank you."

He chuckled and sat on the bed. "You've nothing to fear this time, dearest one. I have nothing to gain from drugging you again. Please, eat. I have worked hard to prepare your favorites."

Removing the lid, a small puff of steam rose, then vanished, revealing her meal: eggs in a light lemon crème sauce, accompanied by red potatoes cooked in butter and parsley, and a cup of tea. It was her favorite breakfast, and he had made sure to prepare it, both to please her and soften her mood.

Lissie did appear to loose some of her anger, but not completely. Clearly, she doubted that the food wasn't drugged, but after he sampled both the eggs and potatoes, Lissie proved more willing to try his cooking. He put the tray on her lap, and after she had slowly eaten her way through the food, Erik whisked it to the bedside table.

"Alright, I've eaten, and now I think I'm entitled to at least a look around my surroundings," Lissie retorted, flinging the sheets back and putting her feet on the ground.

Before he could stop her, she was on her feet, unsteady but determined to walk. Erik shook his head as she stubbornly made her way to the door. The drug he had given her had not fully worn off yet, but if she insisted on seeing the railcar he had procured for this occasion, he would show it to her.

Gently taking her arm, he began to show her around.

* * *

As Erik led me from place to place, I was impressed with how luxurious the railcar was. It was as big as the apartment I shared with my mother and sisters, and everything was of the highest quality, with fancy china and tea settings in the kitchen, a lovely little stove to warm the place, silverware made of real silver, and the cushions were upholstered in red-and-gold cloth. It was a place for royalty, not someone like me.

Since the railcar wasn't that large, my tour was brief. Besides the bedroom I'd been in, there was another one that was smaller, and a real bathroom, complete with flushing toilet. There was also a sitting area/study that was interconnected with the kitchen and dining area, which made things a bit cramped, but still cozy. I rather liked it, despite my present situation.

All too soon, Erik was leading me back to the bed, saying that I hadn't fully recovered from the sleeping drug he'd given me, and that I was overtaxing myself. Since I felt a bit tired, I let him escort me to the bed. However, my tiredness didn't prevent me from asking him what was going on.

Sighing, Erik walked to the window and looked out at the passing countryside. He stood there for several moments, silent as I tried to wait patiently for his answers.

* * *

How could he explain something so simple, but so complex it nearly drove him mad thinking about it? It had taken him weeks to finally understand his feelings for Lissie, and several more weeks to put his plan together and carry it out. There were still a few details he had not dealt with yet, but that would happen in time.

Lissie, however, knew nothing of what he felt, or the reasons behind his actions, and justly deserved an explanation. She was, after all, the dearest person in his life, the one he cared for most in the world.

"Erik?" she pressed impatiently. "Will you tell me _why_ you've abducted me, not to mention _where_ we are going?"

He had to smile. Her impatience with him was always amusing, and teasing her was his favorite source of entertainment.

"I can see you smiling in the glass," Lissie snapped at him. "Now answer my questions, Erik."

Chuckling, he turned towards her and sat on the bed. "To answer one of your inquiries, I will say this: we are going to Venice, Italy."

The look of utter shock on her face was without price. Her eyes stared at him as her jaw dropped slightly. Then it began opening and closing, with no sound emerging. Her breathing had grown shallow and hurried, and all Erik could think was how he longed to capture her expression forever.

After several moments, Lissie finally managed to squeak, "We're…_what_?"

"Going to Italy," Erik calmly replied, reaching out to brush a strand of hair away from her cheek.

He let his hand linger, caressing the soft skin of her face. Strange how, in all the years they had known one another, Erik had never touched her face before. They had never even touched hands, except by accident, and he'd cherished each time her fingers brushed his. Although Lissie's hands were roughened by all of the cooking and cleaning she did, both for him and for her family, they were gentle and caring.

But her cheek, oh, her cheek was soft and warm beneath his touch. She gave a small gasp of surprise as he brushed the backs of his fingers along her face, but did not pull away, which comforted him. He could not have borne it if she had flinched or turned from him.

Reluctantly, Erik lowered his hand and reached into a pocket of his slacks. "As for _why_ we are going there…"

Giving her no time to react, he reached for her left hand and slipped a ring into place.

* * *

'_Oh, my God_,' I repeatedly thought to myself. What had just happened? No, this was not real.

Staring at my left hand, I saw the lovely, sparkling diamond ring on my finger and tried to make sure I wasn't imagining it. The fact that Erik was sitting beside me, smirking like a cat who had just gotten all the cream he wanted, didn't help much.

Clearing my throat, I swallowed heavily and tried to keep calm. "Erik?" I said, keeping my voice steady. "What are you…?"

I couldn't finish my sentence, because I had no idea what to say. My heart was beating like crazy inside my chest, and I was trying desperately not to give into the hope that the man I loved had just slipped what looked like an engagement ring onto my finger.

He simply took my hand and pressed a kiss to the ring. The soft brush of his lips against my skin sent little prickles up and down my body, and I wished that he'd kissed my lips instead of my hand.

"I know it is not the sort of sort of proposal you had in mind," Erik said, still clutching my hand in his. "Nor will we have the normal wedding, without your mother and sisters in attendance, but I think you will be content with what I have planned for us."

Wedding? I'd never even dreamed of getting married in my previous life! Could he be serious?

A firm but gentle hand grasped my chin, forcing me to look into those wonderful green eyes of his. I had seen those eyes blaze with anger, impatience, and full-out rage. I had seen them with a touch of fear in them, and seen them sparkle with happiness whenever I presented his favorite dish to him at supper.

Today, they sparkled in quite a different way. There was something tender in them, an emotion I'd never thought to see in the eyes of the Phantom of the Opera.

'_But perhaps he's not the Phantom anymore_,' a small voice whispered in the back of my head.

No, that wasn't right. Erik was still the Phantom, but he wasn't the man who'd go on a murderous rampage just to get his own way. He was more mature than that, of that I was sure.

My thoughts evaporated as he began stroking my fingers with his thumb, a rather intimate gesture that I was starting to like a lot.

"I hope you will forgive me for your 'abduction,' my dear, but I could think of no other way to ensure that we could be together," Erik softly apologized. "Your mother would have castrated me for even hinting of my feelings for you, and killed me for suggesting marriage."

I blushed. Marriage….it was such a wonderful word, but I had to know, did he really love me? This couldn't be what Destiny had in mind when she sent me here!

Suddenly, time seemed to slow. The train stopped swaying, the countryside seemed to freeze into a perfect picture outside the window, and Erik turned into a statue of his handsome self. I was in a near panic when there was a sudden swirl of blue-green-gold-silver glitter at the foot of the bed. The glitter vanished to reveal a rather exasperated Destiny, clad in a gown that matched her brilliant – almost neon – blue hair.

"Well, I've got to admit, this worked out rather well, though you're a bit thicker in the head than I thought you'd be," she said, eying me carefully.

I gaped at her. "Huh?" I squeaked, feeling both surprised and insulted.

Destiny rolled her gold-silver eyes. "Honestly, Lissie," she sighed. "If I'd told you that my sister and I had wanted the Phantom to fall in love with you, you'd have panicked and refused our offer. You have to admit, everything worked out rather well, considering, and I wouldn't blame you for wanting to stay here and marry Erik. It makes perfect sense."

She held up a hand to stop my protests, and began counting off a checklist on her fingers. "First, you know you like it here, even if you are with a foster family in a completely different century. Second, you're in love with the infamous Opera Ghost, and he loves you, so no complaints there. Third, you're going to a beautiful city in a beautiful country with a hot man who loves you."

Crossing her arms, my supernatural boss stepped up to the side of the bed, looking between me and Erik. "I have to admit, though Fate and I had hoped that you and Erik would fall in love, we were prepared with a backup plan. But believe me, this was what we were counting on. If you had decided to return to your century, you'd have been in for months of recuperation, a few years of physical therapy, and only then would you have been back to the way you were before the accident that sent you into a coma.

"Now, think about the people in the life you'd had before, and tell me this: would you have been as happy there as you are now?"

No, not really. My mother would have been terribly oppressive and made my life miserable as she tried to run my life for me. Meanwhile, my father would do his best to take care of me and still keep his job, which probably wouldn't work out too well. And I'm not even sure what my friends would have done for me.

Plus, back in my old life, I didn't have a man who was in love with me.

Blushing, I watched as Destiny grinned broadly and patted me on the head. "Good girl," she said, smiling. "Now, go have fun with your Phantom, and no matter what happens, I'm here for you. If you need anything, call, and I'll be there."

With a swirl of multi-colored glitter, she was gone, leaving me with the man I loved.

* * *

Blinking, Erik looked at his love and wondered what on earth Lissie could be smiling about. She had not been so happy a moment ago, but now she was giving him the most wonderful smile he had ever seen. Perhaps he was imagining it?

That idea quickly vanished the minute she pressed her lips to his, and '_Oh, lord_,' was all his mind could register as their kiss deepened.

Her mouth was as soft as he'd imagined, and so gentle and loving, he could hardly bear it. He could feel her love behind their kiss, and knew that she loved him as he loved her. It was all he had ever wished for: a woman to love, and who could return that love without fear or disgust.

Reaching out, he took her into his arms and held her, fearing that Lissie would change her mind and pull away. His fears were unfounded, for not a moment later, she put her arms around his neck, her skilled fingers combing through his hair. A purr sounded in his throat, the sensation of her nails gently scraping his scalp arousing him beyond belief. He had to stop her, or else things would go too far.

Quickly, reluctantly, Erik pulled back from the kiss. "We must stop, my angel," he gasped. "I will not be able to control myself if we continue."

Again she had that loving smile, and behind it, a teasing smirk that he found irresistible. "How soon do you plan to be married?" she whispered, running a hand down to his chest.

"Soon," he croaked, delighting in the sensations she was sending through him. "The very hour we arrive in Italy."

"Good," she murmured, lips against his ear. "In the meantime, perhaps we can…amuse ourselves for a while?"

Grinning, he eagerly pressed his beloved back onto the bed, his mouth against hers as she giggled.

* * *

AN: Finally, they kissed…and a bit more! More to follow in the epilogue, and then the sequel will follow in a week or two. Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed! Even if you didn't review, thank you for reading; I hope you enjoyed yourself and will follow on to the sequel. Until next time!


	20. Epilogue

Disclaimer: I don't own anything _**Phantom of the Opera**_ (though I wish I did). Only original characters belong to me.

AN: Here's the epilogue! The sequel should be up in a couple weeks, at the latest. See you all then!

**Epilogue**:

Watching her magic mirror, Destiny threw a smug look over at her sister. Fate rolled her eyes and shook her head, flame-red hair swaying back and forth.

"Okay, you win," she grumbled, handing over a glowing blue jewel. "Still, how'd you know that the two would fall for each other?"

"I didn't," Destiny grinned. "Well, not really. I knew that Amelia – or Lissie, as she is now – was rather open-minded, and she had been lonely in her previous life, so I figured that she might be at least a good friend for Erik, if not a wife. Besides, Amelia had a good heart, and one that cried out for love, even though she wasn't really aware of it. I thought that if I threw them together, it would work. Sometimes you've got to give folks a helpful 'push;' people can be so blind to that sort of thing."

Fate chuckled. "Well, I've got to admit, your track record for tossing people together is near perfect, except for a couple I won't name."

Her sister waved her forefinger at her. "Now, those weren't my fault," Destiny retorted. "If people want to be stubborn and not notice what's right in front of them, and who is perfect for them, then that's their choice. I'm not one to force a person into a relationship –they're people, not cattle."

Both sisters turned back towards the mirror. Lissie and Erik were lying in bed, curled up warmly against one another. Erik was caressing Lissie's hair, and she was sporting a very contented smile. It was cute, in a nauseating way.

Satisfied, Fate went to mix up a few snacks for their movie night tomorrow as Destiny pushed a jewel in the gold frame that surrounded the mirror. It was a jewel (or "button") that she rarely used, since it told her when something significant was going to happen, but she had to be sure that all of her bases were covered when it came to Lissie and Erik.

"Especially since my changing people's lives occasionally stirs the pot," she muttered, waiting to see what would pop up in the mirror this time. And not everything she 'stirred up' was good.

This time, the images didn't show much, but the quick flashes that appeared didn't bode well for Destiny's little charge. Apparently there would be some future trial and heartbreak in Italy, and that heartache would completely undo her work if Destiny didn't head it off.

That would figure; just as things were beginning for dear Lisette, and as her "patron and protector," Destiny had to keep a sharp eye out for her safety. Because Lissie still had a few things to reveal to Erik, and who knew where those revelations could lead?

* * *

AN: On to the sequel!


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